


Wise Enough Not To

by aphreal



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Elf Alistair, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphreal/pseuds/aphreal
Summary: In a Thedas where elven blood is dominant, Alistair is sent away from Redcliffe not to train as a Templar but to work in the kitchens at Highever, where he becomes a friend (or possibly pet project) to the teyrn's daughter. When Highever is attacked, Duncan recruits both the Cousland daughter and the elven servant who trains her mabari. Moved outside of the bounds they've known, the two new Grey Wardens come to terms with grief for the loss of their home, a sudden responsibility for saving the world, and what it means to be equals.A remix of Celeritassagittae's Shem-blooded.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shem-blooded](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/318336) by CeleritasSagittae. 



> Written for the DA Remix Fest (summer 2017) and inspired by Celeritassagittae's epic fic Shem-blooded. 
> 
> Credit is also due to feynites for the post that originally prompted this AU premise. 
> 
> Thanks to Tru for stepping in to beta this one and to Cherie for the amazing portrait of Alistair she drew to accompany it. (which I'll get linked soon)
> 
>  
> 
> “The mabari is clever enough to speak, and wise enough to know not to.” -- Fereldan proverb

“My lady, there you are! I’ve been looking all over the castle for you.” 

Startled, Alexia Cousland turned to see Fergus’s friend Roland - Ser Roland now, seventeen and newly knighted - rushing down the corridor towards her, his face flushed nearly as red as his hair. 

“What’s wrong?” Alarmed, she reached to her waist for a hilt that wasn’t there. Young ladies didn’t carry weapons within the family estate. “Has something happened to Fergus?” 

“Your brother’s fine.” Roland - Ser Roland - puffed to catch his breath, not voicing the skepticism in his eyes. No one would send him searching for a twelve-year-old girl in an emergency; he would be looking for Father if something truly dire had happened. 

“Then what is it?” Alexia avoided crossing her arms, not showing how much his disregard rankled. 

“It’s Nan. Your warhound’s gotten into the larder again, and Nan’s screaming fit to pierce the Veil.” He frowned. “She’s threatening to leave and find work elsewhere.” 

“Over Kaz?” Alexia rolled her eyes. “Nan won’t quit. She’s worked here since Fergus was a baby.” Although she hadn’t taken the move to the kitchens very well once Alexia outgrew the need for a nanny. 

“She says she will, and either way, the screaming she’s doing isn’t going to get dinner made.” 

“No, probably not.” Alexia sighed. “No one else could get Kaz out of the kitchen?” 

“They won’t get near him. You know how loyal mabari are to their masters. The kitchen staff’s convinced he’ll take a hand off anyone but you who gets near him.” 

“Kaz wouldn’t hurt anyone!” 

“Maybe not, but dinner isn’t going to happen until you go get him. Do you want to explain to Lady Eleanor that your pup’s responsible for the evening meal not being ready?” Roland’s grin was mostly concealed by an expression of polite deference - but only mostly. 

“I’ll go sort out Kaz.” Alexia rolled her eyes. “And Nan.” 

 

The kitchens were in exactly as much of an uproar as Roland had promised, Nan’s shrieks audible well down the hall. Alexia entered to find Nan berating a pair of elven servants, the rest of the staff making themselves busy and hoping to escape her notice. Kaz stood at the side of the younger of the elves, a boy maybe two years older than Alexia. The mabari’s hackles were raised, and he growled low in his throat as Nan’s tirade continued. 

“You lazy, dirty knife-ears! I don’t know why the Teyrn, Maker bless him, keeps you vermin on. You probably let the mongrel in yourself, boy, just to cause me trouble and get out of your work.” 

The elven woman looked suitably cowed, head lowered and shoulders hunched under Nan’s verbal abuse. But the boy hadn’t learned to cower. Chin raised, he stared defiantly at Nan, jaw set in stubborn, righteous anger. “I did not! The mabari came in to hunt the rats in the pantry. There was a giant rat. It bit me!” He held up a bleeding hand in proof and finished with a sullen mutter. “And he isn’t a mongrel, either. He’s a purebred mabari, just look at him.” 

“Giant rats? Lies and nonsense!” Nan recoiled from the boy’s bloody hand, a look of disgust on her face. “You let the hound in for mischief, and it serves you right that the cur bit you.” 

“He did not!” Hands on her hips, Alexia strode across the kitchen to glare at Nan. “Kaz wouldn’t bite anyone. Would you, boy?” 

Stubby tail wagging, the half-grown mabari bounded over to her, then leapt back to sit pointedly by the elven boy, whining and staring at her. 

Nan turned on Alexia, the tone of her ire modulating only slightly as she addressed her lord’s daughter. “I don’t care whether he did or not. He shouldn’t be in the kitchen. Get that filthy mutt out of my sight and keep him there.” She shot a disdainful glare at the elves. “And you lot, get back to work. Clean up this mess before I take the damage out of your hides!” 

Nan huffed away to scold one of the other cooks, and the elven woman scurried into the larder to follow her commands. The boy gave Kaz a pat on the head before following her, raising his injured hand towards his mouth. 

Alexia caught hold of his wrist. “Don’t put it in your mouth. Do you know what sort of diseases rat bites can carry?” 

“No, but I do know that it’s bad form to bleed in the kitchen unless you’re on the menu.” The boy tried to wrench his arm away, turning with a glare when her grip held firm. His face blanched when he saw her, and he ducked his head, mumbling. “Sorry, my lady, I didn’t realize.” 

Alexia had liked him better yelling at Nan; subservient deference didn’t seem to suit him. “You’re right about not bleeding on the food.” She grabbed a cloth off a nearby table and wrapped it around his hand, the blood soaking through the first layer quicker than she would have liked. 

Eyes wide, the boy tried to pull his hand away again. “You can’t take that! You’ll get in trouble… Well, I guess maybe _you_ won’t. She’s not going to whip the teyrn’s daughter.” He grimaced. “But that won’t help me any when she finds me with it.” 

“Nan would whip you?” Horrified, Alexia clung more tightly to his hand, relaxing her grip guiltily when he winced. 

“For stealing? Maybe. I don’t know. At Redcliffe they did. I haven’t been curious enough to find out if it’s the same here.” He shrugged, staring at her with a mix of wariness and defiance. 

Oh, at Redcliffe, not here. That was… not all right, exactly, but better. “They won’t. Mother wouldn’t stand for it.” She tucked in the end of the makeshift bandage, not great work but enough to hold for now. “Come on.” 

The boy balked, digging in his heels, expression shifting towards wary panic. “You don’t need to involve the teyrna. If Nan gets mad, I won’t tell her you did it. I promise.” 

“Don’t be silly. I’m not taking you to Mother. We’re going to see the physician. I told you, rat bites are nasty. You don’t want it to get infected, do you? Come on.” 

Bemused, the boy finally acquiesced, following along amiably as Alexia led him out of the kitchen by his arm, Kaz padding along happily at her side. 

Halfway down the hall, he spoke again, softly. “Why do you believe me? About the rats, I mean.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

He shrugged. “Nan didn’t. Why would you?” 

Alexia considered that for a moment; it was a fair question. She’d trusted the boy as soon as she’d seen him, but why? She had walked into the kitchen to see Nan yelling at him, so of course she felt sorry for him, but that wasn’t the same as having a reason to trust him. He’d been standing up for himself, angry and defiant, with a growling mabari at his side… oh, of course. 

“Kaz trusts you, so I trust you.” Really, it was as simple as that. 

“Kaz?” He looked down at the mabari. “Oh, that must be you. We haven’t been introduced. It was a comrade-in-arms sort of bond, fighting against the vile rats. Not much time for formalities like names.” 

Kaz gave a happy little bark, jaw hanging open in a doggy smile of approval. 

Alexia smiled along with the warhound. “He’s Kazaril for long, but mostly I call him Kaz.” 

The boy leaned down to talk to the mabari directly. “Hi, Kaz, it’s nice to officially meet you. They call me Alistair. Thanks for sticking up for me in there.” 

Kaz woofed happily and bounded into the boy - Alistair - hard enough to nearly knock him over with affection. Alexia couldn’t think of a better endorsement for his character. 

 

Alistair suspected the teyrn’s physician was not accustomed to treating elven servants, but firm insistence and imperious glares from the teyrn’s daughter got him over most of his initial reluctance. It didn’t escape Alistair’s notice that the man never spoke to him directly, though. Even while stitching up his hand and giving instructions for care, the man addressed all of his words to the noble girl, like she was entirely responsible for tending to Alistair. Like he was her pet every bit as much as Kaz. 

Alistair would have been more offended if this was the first time he’d been treated like chattel, a possession rather than a person. And at least he’d gotten his hand cleaned and stitched and bandaged. The physician said - to the teyrn’s daughter, of course - that it should heal well enough he might not even have much of a scar. The arl’s favorite broodmare hadn’t gotten better treatment than this when she fell ill after foaling. So maybe Alistair could put up with being considered a pet if he got the sort of care given to a prized pet. 

When the physician finally dismissed him - without ever looking him in the eye - Alistair rolled his eyes at the parting admonition not to use his hand for the rest of the day. The spit was hardly going to turn itself. 

Once the physician’s door was firmly closed behind them, Alistair bowed his head to the teyrn’s daughter, trying to copy a gesture he’d seen some of the older servants make to the teyrna when she came into the kitchens. “Thank you very much for your help, my lady. I’m in your debt.” Not that he had any way to make good on that debt, given that his labor already belonged to her family, so there was hardly more he could offer her. 

Crouching down further, he dared to scritch Kaz behind the ear with his good hand. “It was wonderful to meet you, too, boy. Any time you need help fighting rodents, you can call on my aid.” 

The gangly, half-grown mabari leaned into his hand with a pleased noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. The teyrn’s daughter laughed, and the sound startled him so much that he looked up at her directly, something that would have earned him a tongue lashing at the least in Redcliffe. 

She didn’t seem to mind, though, smiling conspiratorially at him as her mabari continued to shamelessly cadge ear rubs. “Careful. If you’re too good at that, he may never let you stop.” 

“I wouldn’t mind.” He really wouldn’t; there were lots of worse ways to spend an afternoon than spoiling an affectionate mabari. “But I doubt Nan would consider it a good use of my time.” Reluctantly, he gave Kaz a final pat on the head and straightened up. “I should get back to the kitchen. Thank you again, my lady, Kazaril.” 

“You can’t.” A dark frown creased her brow, and perhaps she did look something like her mother despite the fairer coloring. “Didn’t you hear him? He said you can’t use your hand for the rest of the day or the stitches will pull out.” 

“I heard him, but…” Alistair shrugged. “That’s another thing I doubt Nan’s going to care much about. I’ll do as much as I can with my other hand to give it a rest.” Which would make him even clumsier than usual, of course, since it was his right hand the rat had tried to take a chunk out of. 

Her frown only deepened. “He didn’t say ‘try to rest it when you can’; he said ‘don’t use it for the rest of the day’. I’ll explain things to Nan.” 

That almost certainly wouldn’t make it better, but Alistair couldn’t really argue with the teyrn’s daughter. Especially when she’d grabbed hold of his arm again to tow him back towards the kitchen, her expression promising woe to anyone who got in her way. 

Nan proved every bit as unsympathetic as he’d expected, telling him off for shirking his duties and ordering him to stop this nonsense and go turn the spit. She even threw in a couple of “filthy knife-ear”s for good measure. Alistair moved to comply, head ducked in the sort of submission Nan liked to see. There was no sense making her any angrier today. 

“No.” A firm hand closed around his arm before he took more than two steps. The teyrn’s daughter seemed to think otherwise. “Alistair isn’t supposed to use his hand today. It needs to heal.” 

“The knife-ear brat can do whatever he likes with his hand. But the roast needs to get turned or there’s going to be no dinner.” Nan huffed an indignant breath. “Are you going to tell your mother that the meat is burnt because some fool elf boy got in a mess with your mangy pup?” 

The noble girl didn’t know when to back down. “Surely there’s someone else who can turn the spit.” 

“There is not. I don’t keep idle hands sitting about. Everyone in the kitchen has work to do, and that laze-about boy can’t shirk his just because you’re too soft to know when you’re being played.” 

“Fine, then.” Turning her back on Nan, the teyrn’s daughter stalked to the giant hearth where the roast sat on its spit. 

Alistair followed her, glad the confrontation was over and wondering what consequences he’d have to pay for it later, once the girl had left and Nan was free to do what she liked. “It’s all right; don’t worry about it. This is still better care than my hand would have gotten without your help.” 

The teyrn’s daughter stared at him, color high on her cheeks and grey eyes flashing with anger. “You are not using your hand. I have two perfectly good ones that aren’t doing anything else right now.” 

Alistair’s jaw dropped open, and he moved his mouth without words coming out. The teyrn’s daughter was not going to… He stared at the rough wood of the spit handle as she reached for it. “No, my lady, you can’t. Your hands...” 

“Are perfectly fine, compared to yours. Nothing’s tried to eat any of my fingers today.” Defiantly, she wrapped her hands around the rough wood, her grip all wrong for it. 

“They won’t stay fine. You’ll get splinters and blisters and…” 

She turned that imperious, flashing gaze on him again. 

Alistair sighed. “At least let me show you how to hold it to make it easier.” At her gracious nod, he hesitantly reached out to touch her hands - another thing that would have gotten him in no end of trouble in Redcliffe - and adjust her grip. Her hands weren’t as soft as he’d always expected of a pampered noblewoman; she had calluses from some sort of physical work before this. He couldn’t imagine what a twelve-year-old noble daughter would be up to that would put that kind of rough spots on her hands. It definitely wasn’t his place to ask, though; he shouldn’t even know what her hands felt like. 

Nan squawked like a chicken when she saw the teyrn’s daughter herself turning the spit. But the girl met her objections calmly, spine and voice both made of steel as she countered Nan’s every argument. _Dinner wouldn’t be burnt. The work was getting done. Other important tasks were not being neglected in the process. What precisely was the problem with this arrangement?_

Nan finally admitted defeat and huffed off to badger someone else. As much as Alistair enjoyed seeing her brought to heel, he didn’t look forward to whatever petty revenge she would cook up for him tomorrow, once his noble patronage came to an end. But that was tomorrow’s problem. For today, he might as well enjoy petting a mabari while someone else insisted on doing his work for him. 

And enjoy it he did. For all of an hour, until Teyrna Eleanor stopped by the kitchens with instructions for dinner and found her only daughter turning the spit like a scullery maid, hair sweaty and clothes smeared with ashes and grease. 

Somehow, when all of the ensuing shouting died down, the teyrna’s anger was directed solely at Nan, who was firmly ordered to give Alistair the rest of the day off, in accordance with the physician’s instructions. The teyrna swept out of the room, her daughter hurrying to follow her and catching hold of Alistair’s arm to pull him along. Kaz trotted at her heels with a broad doggy grin. 

She released his arm quickly when they got out of the kitchen, and Alistair saw the wince she tried to hide. “How are your hands, my lady?” 

“Fine.” She tucked them away quickly so he couldn’t see any blisters and catch her in the lie. “You should call me Alexia. We’re friends now; Kaz says so.” 

 

Alistair showed up in the kitchen in the morning at the usual time, with more than the usual level of trepidation. While he’d thoroughly enjoyed the absolute luxury of an afternoon free, it would have given Nan plenty of time to stew in her anger and plan suitable punishment for his defiance. But whatever today brought, it couldn’t take away the pleasure of spending a few hours curled up in the dusty straw of the disused hay loft reading a tattered book he’d smuggled from Redcliffe. No one had ever said he _couldn’t_ read, exactly, but he didn’t like the way people looked at him when they caught him doing it, like they weren’t sure what he was up to but didn’t trust it. So he confined his reading to stolen moments with hidden books in out-of-the-way places. An entire afternoon… he’d have to thank Kaz for finding that rat if he ever saw the mabari again. 

He didn’t expect that to happen so soon. 

Alistair was about two hours into a day of keeping his head down, doing the nastiest chores in the kitchen, and waiting for Nan’s inevitable wrath to descend, when the gangly mabari pup trotted in the door with a tongue-lolling grin and headed straight for him. 

Alistair quickly turned his back and started thinking very loud “go away” thoughts. _Shoo! Get out of here, Kaz. Mabari don’t belong in kitchens, with their dirt and their slobber and… You know I don’t mean that, right, boy? You’re the most wonderful mabari in the world, and I don’t want you to go away, but I really can’t get into trouble again today, so please, just… no more rats?_

The mabari, not being a mind reader, continued on oblivious to the entire one-sided conversation, weaving through the room to plop down on the flagstone floor at Alistair’s feet. Against his better judgment, Alistair grinned down at the warpup. “Thanks for coming to check on me.” 

Kaz’s stubby tail swept back and forth on the stone floor, and he leaned his head against Alistair’s leg in slobbery affection. 

Right, he could deal with this. As long as Kaz didn’t cause any trouble today, Nan might not notice the large warhound hanging around the kitchen… Okay, maybe not. But she might be willing to overlook him being there if Alistair did all of his work and neither of them gave her a reason not to. That was the goal: quiet, efficient, unobtrusive, one-handed work and nothing to make Nan think about yesterday. 

Which might have worked, until the door opened again and he realized that Kaz had been followed by the teyrn’s daughter - Alexia. She’d said he could call her Alexia, so it was probably safe to use her name, at least inside his own head. 

But there went his plan. Because even if Kaz could be quiet and not draw attention, Alistair was pretty certain Alexia had never had the word unobtrusive applied to her in her life. And most likely wouldn’t want to. 

Sure enough, she followed Kaz’s lead and came right over to him, asking after his hand and trying to help with his work until he found a way to politely ask her not to without pointing out her complete ineptitude at it. He assured her he was fine, that his hand felt much better - which wasn’t even much of a lie - and that she really, really didn’t need to hang around in the kitchen today. Reluctantly, she accepted his answers and left, Kaz padding after her. 

Alistair sighed with relief as the door closed behind the pair of them. He was sure she meant well, but, Maker, he really didn’t need any more “help” from someone who wasn’t going to be around to deal with consequences of the things her actions set in motion. 

Except that it turned out she was. 

Alexia and Kaz stopped by the kitchen every day, at different times, to check in on him. At first Alexia insisted she was monitoring how his hand healed, to report back to the physician. So once the bandages were off and the stitches removed, Alistair didn’t expect to see her again. But there she was the next day - and the day after that - asking how he was doing and actually listening to the answer. She studied him with a skeptical, thoughtful frown every time he glossed over any sort of punishment or unpleasantness, like she knew he’d lied but was too polite to point it out, and eventually he stopped trying to shade the truth for her. 

Nan took notice of the ongoing visits, too, regarding Alexia’s presence with irritation that eventually gave way to resigned acceptance. And, whether Alexia had intended it that way or not, led to better treatment. Nan started going out of her way to avoid giving him any reason to complain. Wouldn’t want to upset the little knife-ear that the teyrn’s daughter had taken in as a pet, after all. 

But it didn’t mean that Nan got kinder, overall. Just that she stopped targeting Alistair so much. He wondered what would happen if he started casually slipping Alexia stories about things that happened to other servants. He wondered if it would make things better for them or just get them - and him - into even worse trouble. He wondered if he’d be brave enough to try it and find out. 

Alistair started looking forward to Alexia’s daily visits. It was nice to have someone who went out of her way to see him and find out how he was doing. He could never be sure why she kept stopping by - a teyrn’s daughter must have better things to do than worry about the kitchen staff - but he liked it anyway. It felt almost like having a friend. 

 

Time alone with her parents was a rare treat for Alexia. Sharing them with the responsibilities of a teyrnir and an older brother - not to mention his new bride - meant that she rarely got time for just the three of them. So a private family luncheon, without even Fergus and Oriana, offered an opportunity not to be wasted. Both to spend time with her parents and to raise a topic she’d been contemplating in recent weeks. 

“I visited the kennels this afternoon.” She punctuated her off-hand comment with a sip of tea. “Lady’s newest whelps are doing well. Brendan even thinks the runt will survive.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Father’s smile held genuine warmth born of fondness for the castle’s warhounds. 

Alexia seized the encouragement. “Both for the pup and for Brendan. He’s put so much energy into caring for her, day and night.” 

“He’s always been very dedicated to the mabari, as long as I can remember.” 

“I thought he looked a bit tired, though. It must be hard, taking care of so many hounds and pups all by himself.” Alexia tilted her head, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “Do you think he might consider taking on an assistant?” 

Father nodded thoughtfully as he chewed, swallowing before speaking. “That’s not a bad idea, pup. The kennel is more full than when I was a boy, and Brendan isn’t getting any younger. I’ll talk to him about whether there’s a youngster he might start training up.” 

Alexia bit the inside of her lip. “Actually, I had someone in mind to suggest.” 

“I thought you might.” Mother’s eyes sparkled, even as her smile hid behind the rim of her teacup. 

Father looked between the two of them, a slight frown creasing his beard. “Who are you thinking of, pup?” 

“A boy who works in the kitchen. His name’s Alistair. He’s a couple of years older than me, and he’s very responsible. Brendan could rely on him, and I think he’d do well at it.” 

Father’s frown deepened. “What makes you think a kitchen boy would be good at raising and training mabari?” 

“Kaz adores him.” What higher praise could she offer than that? 

“That sounds like quite an endorsement to me.” Mother didn’t try to conceal her smile this time. 

Father chuckled. “Perhaps so. I’ll have a talk with Brendan to see how he feels about taking on help and then find this Alistair boy that Kazaril thinks so highly of.” 

Pleased, Alexia turned her attention to the plate of fruit and cheese, happily hoarding all of the pear slices since Fergus wasn’t here to fight her for them.


	2. Chapter 2

Ten years later

Alexia had to be dreaming. Any moment now, she would wake up and discover that it had all been a dream, that nothing had been real since she was startled awake by frantic barking and shouts for help. It had been a jumble of nightmare images. A household servant bleeding on her threshold, Mother wearing armor in the middle of the night, armed men running through the halls. Little Oren sprawled on the floor, pale and far too still. 

None of it could be real. This couldn’t be happening. She had to wake up and make it stop. 

But the nightmare wouldn’t end. Every turn led to another corridor filled with Howe’s men, soldiers with blood on their blades and cruelty in their eyes. Before long, Alexia held a blood-covered sword herself, and Kaz’s muzzle was stained a deep red. Maker’s mercy, this couldn’t be real. 

She ran through the halls on Mother’s heels, past horror after horror, the scenes of death and ruin compounding, overwhelming her to the point she became numb to them. She swung her sword at a man trying to kill her, and an arc of blood spattered across the door to Mother’s sitting room, and none of it could be real. 

Every avenue of escape was cut off to them, the castle surrounded and nearly overrun. No matter how many mail-clad soldiers collapsed to the ground - screaming, bleeding, too loud and bright to be real - more always appeared. There was no way out, no end to the nightmare. Maker’s blood, why didn’t she wake up? 

Desperate and frightened - Mother shouldn’t be frightened; she was always composed and reliable - Mother led the way to their last hope of escape, a hidden servants’ entrance in the kitchen. The narrow corridors were quieter here, serving quarters less of a target for the invaders. They might make it through to the kitchen, and then, once they were free of the castle, maybe the nightmare would finally end. 

The hall outside the kitchen was filled with Howe’s men, more than a dozen metal-clad soldiers coming towards them. The men broke into a run at the sight of the teyrna and her daughter, charging with fierce, eager shouts as they found their quarry at last. Mother’s arrows dropped two of them before they could cross the distance, but the rest ran on undaunted. Alexia braced herself to meet the charge with her blade, Kaz coiled in a snarling crouch beside her. 

The numbers were too great; they couldn’t survive this. Maker willing, maybe she would finally wake up from this nightmare when she died in it. 

Two of them closed with her at once, the others constrained by the narrow hallway. Alexia parried one attack, expecting to feel the other sword sink into her shoulder or ribs. Instead, Kaz met the man’s charge, leaping up on his hind legs to throw his weight against the soldier, front claws scraping on metal breastplate. The impact staggered the soldier enough to spoil his attack, sword scraping against the stone wall rather than Alexia’s flesh, and Kaz’s savage bark held an edge of satisfaction. 

Alexia focused on the man in front of her, trusting Kaz to hold her flank. As their blades clashed again, an arrow hissed by her ear, Mother continuing to take shots at the back ranks of the soldiers. Alexia’s opponent flinched away from the arrow, and that gave her all the opening she needed to open a cut on his forearm that would slow down his attacks. 

Kaz snarled and lunged at the off-balance soldier’s legs, teeth finding purchase on a lightly-armored calf. The man screamed in pain as he fell to one knee, and Kaz closed in for the kill. The mabari’s snarling growls echoed in the hallway, the sound doubling on itself, making him sound larger and more fearsome, like a whole pack of hounds rather than just one. Alexia wished the echoes could take flesh; with a handful more mabari at her side, she might have a chance to survive this. 

The barking and baying grew louder as a pair of mabari burst around the corner at the far end of the hall, her wishes made real. The first two hounds were followed by several more. The soldiers at the back of the press turned to face the new threat with shouts of alarm. The one facing Alexia turned his head, as well, and she stabbed the point of her sword into his neck, recoiling as blood sprayed across her face and chest. 

She ignored the man as he collapsed to the floor, gurgling and gasping and no longer relevant. 

Using the momentary breathing space, Alexia surveyed the hallway, watching the intruders falter under the sudden mabari assault. An elven man followed the warhounds into the hallway, gripping a simple belt knife and shouting commands to guide the pack. Alexia hadn’t spoken to Alistair in a few weeks, having been too busy to visit the kennels as often as usual, but she could rarely remember being so grateful to see someone. His eyes met hers briefly before he darted into the mass of soldiers and hounds, his knife slicing shallow cuts in the gaps between armor plates, finding the weak spots. 

Alistair could only open superficial wounds, his knife blade too short to penetrate more deeply, but his efforts proved deadly all the same. A soldier flinched away from Alistair’s attack, hissing with pain at a shallow slice across his right elbow; he raised his left arm to check the wound, and an arrow sunk into his exposed armpit. Another man stumbled from a cut across the back of his calf, and two mabari dragged him to the ground. Alistair might not have killed the men directly, but he made for a truly lethal distraction. 

Flanked and unprepared to face the pack tactics of well-trained mabari, the intruders’ press collapsed into chaotic panic. With nowhere to run, their numbers dwindled as they were cut down one by one. Alexia pushed forward through the melee, sword swinging, drawing blood with a ruthlessness she’d often feared she wasn’t capable of. But in this moment, facing supposed allies with the blood of her loved ones on their hands, she felt no remorse. No cruelty she showed these men could ever outweigh the savage butchery that left Oren lying crumpled in a spreading pool of blood. 

When the last of the soldiers fell, his cry cut off abruptly by a mabari’s jaws, Alexia stood panting in the midst of the carnage, trying not to question how she had survived. If it was a dream, things didn’t have to make sense. Except she was beginning to doubt this nightmare was a dream. 

“Are you all right?” Mother’s voice sounded like it came from further away than the end of the hall. 

Alexia raised her head and inhaled deeply before facing her to answer. “I’m unharmed.” 

“Good. I am as well.” Mother looked towards Alistair and his pack of hounds crouched around something on the floor. “Thanks to timely intervention.” A grim look came over her face as she walked through the corpse-strewn hallway towards the kitchen door. “Maker willing, our way out remains clear.” 

Stooping to pick up a sword dropped by one of Howe’s men, Alexia made her way towards the knot of mabari around Alistair, Kaz padding at her side. As she drew closer, she got a glimpse of what they were looking at, a fallen mabari whimpering as Alistair touched her leg, blood matted in the fur. 

“Easy, girl, you’ll be all right.” He spoke soothingly to the hound as he gently eased her to her feet, where she limped on three paws, the fourth held gingerly off the ground. “We’ll find something to bind it soon. You’ve been very brave. All of you.” He took the time to pat heads and scratch behind ears before standing and nodding respectfully to Alexia. “My lady.” 

“Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened to Mother and I if you and your charges hadn’t arrived when you did. Have you seen anyone else?” 

“Not alive.” He grimaced, and Alexia didn’t press for details. She had enough fuel for reliving this night in nightmares already. 

“Most of the castle is overrun. Mother hoped the door in the kitchens might have been overlooked and offer a clear route of escape. In case she’s wrong, take this.” She held out the sword to him, hilt first. 

Alistair didn’t reach for it. “I can’t.” 

“It will give you better reach than that knife.” Alexia pushed the sword at him more firmly. “I’ll bear any consequences. You’re using it in the service of Highever. And if the Landsmeet or crown want to raise an inquiry about these events, my crime of arming elves will have to be compared to Howe’s crime of killing his sworn lord’s grandson.” 

His face went pale, and he stared at her in open-mouthed horror. “They killed Oren?” Alistair’s voice sounded small. 

Mother responded, words clipped and hard. “If you mean to supplant a tree, you cut it out root and leaf. They will have orders to be thorough.” 

Alexia forced her voice past the thickness in her throat. “The nobles aren’t going to care what you do tonight, not after that. Take the sword and help keep some of us alive.” 

Alistair swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded rough but like his own. “I’ll do everything I can, but I wouldn’t know how to use that. I’ll stick with my knife. And the mabari. They’re worth at least five of me.” 

“I’m grateful to have them. And you.” Whatever he said, the hounds had not let themselves out of their kennels or chosen to run down this hallway on their own. 

“We must go.” Mother beckoned to them as she pulled open the kitchen door. “Quickly, before more of the intruders find us.” 

 

But it was not Howe’s men who found them in the kitchen, Alexia frozen in numb horror as she watched Mother kneel in a pool of Father’s blood. Her fervent, desperate wish to finally wake from this devastating nightmare was interrupted not by welcome dawn or violent soldiers but by a calm, stoic Grey Warden. Duncan conscripted Alexia into service, but his authority was scarcely necessary. Her father, gasping for breath as the life seeped from his body, had given her two charges: revenge what had been done this night and do her duty to Ferelden by protecting its people from the threat of a Blight. Duncan did not need to conscript her to ensure her commitment the second, and he would not stop her from the first. 

After a long moment of silent contemplation, the Warden-Commander had brought Alistair along as well. He’d spoken about resourcefulness and loyalty, but Alexia thought she saw something more in his dark eyes when he looked at Alistair before deciding to conscript a second recruit into the Grey Wardens. 

The servants’ door had escaped notice, as Mother hoped, but she didn’t join them in leaving through it. Alexia’s last sight of her mother was standing proud and unbroken, over Father’s prone form, her bow raised and aimed at the door. The image blurred, and Alexia turned away to follow Duncan as hot tears spilled over, running down her cheeks, the night’s horrors finally more than she could bear. 

Behind her, she heard Alistair speak a firm word of command. “Guard.” When they emerged into the night, Kaz was the only mabari with them. 

 

Alistair watched the moon set and tried not to look at the glow on the horizon. It wasn’t sunrise, the light in the north instead of the east, not to mention being too red. He didn’t need to watch the place that had been his home for nearly half his life burn. Even if most of it was stone that wouldn’t take the fire very well. How was there enough wood left for Highever to still be burning this many hours later? Maybe they were burning bodies now. Bodies of people he’d known. Alistair turned his head away from the red-tinged sky; he didn’t need to watch. 

Alexia, sitting a few yards away, hunched in on herself with legs curled up to her chest, didn’t seem able to look away from the ruddy glow over the hill. What was she imagining as she watched her family home burn? Her cheeks were dry, as far as he could see, but somehow the lack of tears made it worse. She just looked hollow and empty. 

The Warden-Commander had gone off somewhere, scouting probably, leaving the two of them alone in this small hollow. Alistair should probably say something to her, shouldn’t he? Maybe not. If he was a servant, he should respect the teyrn’s daughter, stay out of her way and not intrude into her grief. But if he was her friend, he couldn’t sit by and watch her hurt without trying to help in whatever small way he could. So that was the real question: servant or friend, which was he?

Kaz’s reproachful glare decided it for him. The mabari lay on the ground at his mistress’s side, leaning against her, and Alexia had one hand buried in his ruff, clutching tightly at the coarse fur. Kaz briefly turned his head away from nuzzling at her leg to stare at Alistair with an expression of bewildered hurt. 

_I can’t make it better either, boy, but you’re right. I should at least try to help._

Alexia didn’t stir as he settled in on Kaz’s other side, her dry eyes fixed on the distant horizon, her face set into a cold, pale mask. But this close, he could see the cracks in the marble statue she was trying to become. Fingers clutching spasmodically at Kaz’s fur. Mouth wrinkling as she bit the inside of her lip or cheek. Breaths shaky as she fought not to sob. Strong as she was, he saw her on the edge of shattering. 

“I’m sorry. About your…” _Parents? Nephew? Home? Life?_ “...everything.” 

She gave a slight nod to acknowledge his words, then licked her lips, leaving behind a smear of blood, and forced out strained words. “Thank you.” 

Alistair didn’t know what to say next. Words felt inadequate. _He_ felt inadequate. 

After a long moment of silence, Alexia tore her eyes away from the glowing horizon to acknowledge his presence. “It can’t have been easy leaving the mabari behind like that. Are you all right?” 

Alistair stared dumbly. That sounded genuine, not just rote concern. She was worrying about him at a time like this? “You just lost your parents, your whole family, your home. I don’t think a pack of hounds compares to that.” Even if they had been his closest friends, the kennels the only place he’d ever felt like he belonged and was wanted. 

Alexia’s eyes shied away at his words. Her shoulders rose in a tiny shrug, the movement too tight and almost defensive. She swallowed hard, her chin raising as she spoke. “One person hurting doesn’t mean another can’t.” She met his gaze again. “And you raised that entire litter by hand when Shadow bled out after whelping them. It can’t have been easy to leave them behind, knowing what would happen.” 

It was his turn to look away, tears prickling at his eyes, struck with the sudden memory of warm, tiny lumps of puppies sleeping on his chest and lapping milk from his fingers, adoring and trusting him with complete blind faith before they were even big enough to open their eyes. He forced words through a throat thick with unshed tears. “They were raised to defend Highever and its teyrn and teyrna. They did.” 

“Yes, they did. Bravely, and I’ll see them honored for it. But that doesn’t mean it can’t hurt to lose them.” Her hand wrapped around his where it rested on Kazaril’s back, giving a gentle, comforting squeeze before retreating again. 

What was he supposed to say to that? He couldn’t think of a single thing that would fit. Not that it mattered, because he wasn’t sure he could speak right now without his voice cracking. How could he find words with his thoughts full of the pups who he’d sent to die because they trusted him? Alistair blinked away tears and cleared his throat. He was supposed to be comforting her, damn it. 

“Thank you. I can’t remember if I said that before, but I should have.” Alexia’s gaze had returned to the glow on the distant horizon, her voice distant and too steady. “Thank you for showing up when you did. I don’t think we would have made it out of that hallway without your help.” 

Remembering what they’d found at the end of the hallway - her father slowly dying while trying to put on a brave face for his little girl, her mother being saved only to choose to stay and die in her home with her husband - Alistair didn’t understand how she could thank him for getting her there. 

“I didn’t… It wasn’t enough. Your parents are still... If we’d gotten there sooner, maybe…” He stopped stumbling over words and shook his head. “I didn’t do anything you should thank me for. I couldn’t save them.” 

“You saved me.” Her voice is soft, and there’s a quaver to it, roughness more genuine than the rigid control. “And you gave me a chance to say goodbye. That’s… not a small thing.” 

He remembered the pain and longing in her face as she’d spoken to her father, the teyrn bleeding on the kitchen floor. But he also remembered the intensity in her eyes, fixed on his face, the way she’d nodded at his every word, as if she wanted to crystallize the last precious seconds with the man who had raised her. If Alistair’s actions had helped her have that, maybe that was something he’d done right, at least. One tiny thing. 

Alistair looked again at the tension in her neck, the white knuckles wrapped around Kaz’s collar, the clenched muscles of her jaw. He couldn’t imagine the effort it took her to hold together. Or why she thought she needed to. “You know, after everything that’s happened... you don’t have to be all right.” 

He braced himself for her to explode, in anger or tears, but the stare she turned on him was eerily measured. “Yes. I do.” She licked her lips, swallowed, and took a deep, shaky breath. “I made promises, and I have to keep them. I can’t do that if I fall apart. Father’s counting on me to...” She looked upward, blinking rapidly and exhaling in long, slow breaths. 

Alistair reached a hand out to lay it on her arm in a tentative gesture of comfort. 

She stiffened at his touch, her breath hitching and coming out in almost a strangled sob. “Please, don’t.” 

He quickly pulled his hand away, looking down. He should have known better than to touch her. “I’m sorry, my lady.” 

“No, it’s not… It isn’t you.” Her voice shook, and she pressed her lips together tightly, inhaling sharply through her nose then blowing out the breath. “There are things I must do. I promised to lay this night’s crimes at Howe’s feet. And to honor my duty to Ferelden.” 

Alistair kept his eyes downcast, saying nothing. He’d overstepped enough already. 

“But first I have to go to Ostagar and find Fergus, to tell him… I have to tell Fergus that… that…” Alexia’s shoulders sagged, and she crumpled forward, forehead pressed to her white-knuckled hands buried in the mabari’s fur. “Sweet Andraste, I have to tell Fergus.” 

Her control finally broke, the marble statue shattering. Alexia’s shoulders heaved with violent sobs, but she didn’t make a sound, weeping silently against her loyal mabari’s back. 

And Alistair sat by helplessly and watched her fall apart, wishing he could do something. Anything. 

A friend should offer comfort, share her pain, but she wouldn’t let him, turning the conversation to his loss and reminding him to stay in his place. A lazy knife-ear servant shouldn’t have thought he could be friends with the teyrn’s daughter anyway. But a servant wasn’t much help to her either; there wasn’t any serving to be done out in a forest in the middle of the night. Maybe he’d have done better as the pet Nan always thought he was. Kaz was doing more good, twisting his head around to whine and nuzzle at his mistress’s face, offering scant comfort but more than Alistair had managed. Maybe he should have stayed to delay pursuit and sent the mabari pack with her. They might have been more use. 

As quietly as he could, Alistair withdrew to where he’d been sitting before, giving her space for her grief. That was all he had to give. 

By the time Duncan returned, her silent weeping had subsided, and the glow of the distant fire had begun to dim, fading to a dark red smudge outlining the crest of the hill that rose to the north. “The pursuit has ended for now. They won’t send more men until full light, I suspect. Get some rest, sleep if you can. We set out at dawn.” 

Alistair huddled up as small as he could against the cool pre-dawn air, pressed his back against the roots of a tree, and tried to clear his mind enough to fall asleep. Between the gnarled bark, rough through his coarse linen shirt, and the images of blood and death that filled his mind, he didn’t expect to have much luck. 

Across the clearing, he saw another pair of still open eyes, glinting in the faint moonlight. Alexia wouldn’t be sleeping tonight either. Her gaze shifted to meet his, eyes firm but not hard. “We’ll get you a sword. Laws don’t matter so much to Grey Wardens, and if you’re going to be fighting darkspawn, you’ll want them further away than the length of a knife.” 

She was thinking about weapons and tactics right now? Well, it might not make such a bad distraction, at that. “It’s a nice thought, but I still wouldn’t know how to use a sword.” 

“I’ll teach you.” Her eyes flicked downwards as she continued, fingers carding rhythmically through Kaz’s ruff. “A better weapon should give you a better chance of staying alive. So I’ll help you learn to use it. Because I’m not losing another friend.” 

“I… thank you. You’ll probably regret it as much as anyone else who’s ever tried to teach me something. But I’ll do my best to learn. Keeping darkspawn further away sounds very motivating.” He swallowed the rush of nervous babble. “Really, though… thank you.” 

Alexia made an appropriately gracious reply, then turned away, head pillowed on Kaz’s back as if she planned to sleep. Alistair burrowed more deeply into his hollow, trying to avoid the whatever-it-was that kept digging into his hip. 

_Another friend_ , she’d said. Which meant, yes, they were friends. That was… good to know.


	3. Chapter 3

As they crested a hill, Alistair caught sight of Redcliffe spread out before them, its fortified walls filling the valley. He’d only seen the castle from this vantage once before, the day he left for Highever. He thought it would look smaller than he remembered, since he was so much taller now, but somehow it looked even bigger than in his memory. 

It was also close. He couldn’t put off this confession any longer. 

“Can we talk for a moment? I need to tell you something I… probably should have told you a long time ago.” 

“Of course.” Alexia gestured for the others to wait as she followed him a few paces away from the group. “What’s bothering you?” 

“I told you once that I’d been at Redcliffe before coming to Highever, right?” 

“You also mentioned they hadn’t treated you well.” She frowned, hand closing unconsciously into a grip as if she were holding a hilt. “Is there likely to be trouble with anyone?” 

She’d remembered that? “No, nothing like that. You don’t need to worry about any long-held revenge plots or warrants for my arrest. Other than the usual Grey Warden ones the Rege-- Loghain has everywhere.” He caught himself barely in time, seeing her jaw clench at the hated title, and she let the lapse pass. 

“I appreciate the reassurance.” Her grip relaxed, and she tilted her head, curious rather than alert. “What did you want to warn me about, then?” 

“There are people here who… know who I am. And I wanted you to hear it from me first rather than one of them letting it slip.” Well, that didn’t sound ominous at all. 

“Do I not… know who you are?” She mimicked his emphasis with remarkable accuracy, but her wary caution erased any humor he might have found in it. 

“I figure you must not since you put up with me.” He forced a grin that didn’t feel terribly convincing. “But I meant there are people here that know who my parents were.” 

“Is that a problem?” She spoke deliberately, words carefully chosen. 

“Not the kind someone’s going to shed blood over, but it could get uncomfortable. My mother isn’t important. She was a servant woman at the castle, I’m told. She died in childbirth, so I never met her.” He sighed. Enough stalling. “But my father, as it happens, was King Maric.” 

Alexia’s lips parted with no sound emerging, then after a moment the slack tightened into a frown. “And they forced you to work in the kitchen? They beat you? The son of a king?” 

“I wasn’t the son of a king; I was the orphaned bastard of a knife ear whore.” The invective rolled off his tongue easily; he’d heard it often enough growing up. 

But Alexia hadn’t. Her grim expression grew even darker. “If anyone here calls you that, there will be blood shed over it.” 

As much as a petty part of him cheered at the thought of Alexia demanding satisfaction from the arlessa, it wouldn’t help their chances of getting Redcliffe’s aid against the Blight. 

He raised his hands, palms out, realizing belatedly it was the same gesture he’d use to soothe testy mabari. “As far as they know, that’s all I am. That’s all anyone knows, mostly. The part about King Maric is a state secret; nobody knows but the arl and his close family. We wouldn’t want word to get out that Good King Maric was a pervy elf fancier, would we? He never paid me any attention. Maybe he never even knew.” He lowered his hands, shoulders lifting in a vague shrug. “It doesn’t matter now. I just didn’t want you to be caught off guard if the arl or someone mentioned it.” 

Alexia remained silent for another moment, her face grave, a mask concealing any hint of what she might be thinking. Had he made a mistake in telling her? Would she think differently of him, now that his very existence tarnished the memory of the king her parents had killed and bled for? 

After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Alexia reached out and took his hand, stilling his fingers from their idle fidgeting with the buckle of the sword sheath he hadn’t quite gotten used to wearing yet. 

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter who your parents were, except in one very important way.” Her fingers were warm on his, still rough with the sword calluses that had confused him when she was a girl. She held his gaze with the same intense sincerity, too. “I don’t care who your mother was, but I’m very sorry that you never had the chance to know her, to grow up with her care and love. You deserved that, and I’m sorry you couldn’t experience it. I’m sure she would have been proud of the man you’ve become.” She paused for a breath. “And I don’t care who your father was, either, but I am sorry for him that he never took the time to know you. King or no, he was poorer for having forfeited the opportunity to have you in his life.” 

Her face went all blurry, and Alistair blinked quickly to clear the tears. He gently pulled his fingers free of Alexia’s grip and turned away, feigning interest in the equally blurry view of Redcliffe spread out below them. 

Alexia took a half step forward to stand at his shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t leave either. 

He’d told her his shameful secret, and she didn’t leave. She didn’t judge him. Instead, she stood at his side and supported him. That was… too much to think about right now. 

“Right. We managed to find Redcliffe, and I didn’t get us lost or anything. Now we go in and you impress the arl with your secret noble handshake, and we have an ally. Unless he’s as sick as we’ve heard. That would really muck things up. I bet the arlessa only knows Orlesian secret handshakes.” 

 

Things at Redcliffe had been worse than Alexia could ever have imagined. Not only was Eamon sick and Isolde distraught, but their untrained mage son had gotten himself possessed trying to end his father’s illness. Everything she’d learned from Mother Mallol called him an abomination that must be killed, but all Alexia could see looking at Connor was the boy Oren would never grow to be. Her decision to seek help from the Circle had never been in doubt. She just hadn’t expected to find them in even more dire need of her aid. 

Sometimes Alexia wondered if she was still in some horribly prolonged nightmare that had begun with Kaz’s frantic barking and continued on through one horror after another, from Highever to Ostagar to Redcliffe to Kinloch. Every time she closed her eyes, a part of her couldn’t help hoping that when she opened them again, she would be at Highever with all of this behind her and everything the way it ought to be. 

 

The great hall was perfect: everything polished and shined up for the occasion without losing any of the familiar shabbiness that made it home. She smiled fondly at the soot stain on the stones above the fireplace, the one that looked something like a face when viewed at the right angle, especially by a bored little girl staring past Father's shoulder as he talked to someone she didn't know about something she didn't understand. She grinned wryly at the ancient tapestry in the corner, the one with edges so frayed and tattered that Fergus had her convinced for a whole year that it had been gnawed on by a dragon. 

Of course, she was far too grown up now to believe Fergus’s stories or daydream during important audiences. But the memories were pleasant touchstones to remind her of a past in the place she would likely be leaving before long, moving as most noblewomen did from a childhood home to a husband’s estate. While the specific husband had yet to be selected, Alexia knew it could only be a matter of time before she and her parents agreed on a suitable candidate. 

Which made her all the more determined to enjoy tonight’s festivities. If she couldn’t predict how much longer she would be at Highever, she should do everything she could to savor the time she had and create more happy memories to carry with her wherever she went next. 

Playful, joyous music filled the air, and couples danced through the hall in time to its measures. Father swept by, Oriana in his arms, both of them elegant and graceful as always. Off to the edge of the open space, where their antics wouldn’t disturb any of the proper dancers, Fergus and Oren engaged in a more spirited if less polished romp of their own. Her nephew squealed with laughter as his father tossed him into the air, mimicking the leaps of the couples dancing past. Alexia smiled, content to watch for a while and store up a bit of this familiar joy. 

As the song wound to a close, she caught sight of Mother making a slow progress across the room, chatting with guests and introducing them to the tall, broad-shouldered man at her side. His jacket was a dark blue, and his hair gleamed golden in the light, a lovely contrast with Mother’s elegant silver braids. The pair moved deftly through the crowd, never lingering in any one place. They made conversation full of polite smiles and laughter - most of which sounded surprisingly genuine for party conversation - then moved on to speak with the next cluster of worthies in their path. It didn’t take much imagination to see that Mother had a destination in mind. Or to guess who the man with her must be. 

Alexia turned her attention back to the dancers as the next song began, watching Mother’s approach only through her peripheral vision. The pair would get to her when they got here; she was better mannered than to betray any impatience at their pace. Most of a song passed before they finally drew close enough for her to turn her head and acknowledge their presence. 

Mother’s small smile held approval; the headstrong little girl could learn court manners and broadsword both, no matter what her detractors had predicted. “Your highness, may I present my daughter, Alexia Cousland? Alexia, the crown prince.” 

“Your royal highness.” Alexia dipped into a proper curtsey, but she didn’t duck her head with a false blush or try to feign surprise. Who else could the handsome stranger with Mother have been but the crown prince, joining the rest of Ferelden’s worthy bachelors here to meet the teyrn’s eligible daughter? 

And he was handsome, moreso than she would have expected. In addition to the broad shoulders and golden hair, he had a ready smile and eyes that shone with warmth and intelligence. Something in his manner put her at ease, a feeling of comfortable familiarity despite them never having met before tonight. 

“The title’s only temporary. I’m keeping it safe until I can hand it off to a niece or nephew.” He seemed genuinely pleased by the prospect rather than dreading the loss of status. That was another mark in his favor, she thought. 

“Can I leave his highness with you for a bit?” Mother turned an apologetic smile to the prince. “I owe Bryce a dance, and I’ve made him wait most of the evening already. I have every confidence that Alexia will be a good hostess in my absence.” 

If the prince was bothered by the transparent matchmaking, he didn’t show it, responding with an amiable smile. “You’ve been more than generous with your time already, your grace. Go dance with your husband and don’t worry about me.” 

As Mother left, Alexia glanced sidelong at the prince, speaking in a wry undertone, as if sharing a confidence or a confession. “She can be subtle when she wants to.” 

He laughed, sudden and unguarded. “It’s refreshing, having someone be clear about what they’re up to. Speaking of which…” A half smile and an extended hand. “Would you care to dance?” 

Alexia found the prince to be an excellent dance partner. They moved together effortlessly, falling into an easy rhythm of both footwork and conversation. His smile was warm, he made her laugh frequently, and she couldn’t help feeling like she’d known him for years, even though Mother had only introduced them just now. If she had to choose a suitor from among the young noblemen who had visited Highever in recent months, she could do far worse. 

The evening stretched on, and she spent all of it on the dance floor in the prince’s arms. Buoyed up by conversation and laughter, she scarcely noticed the time passing, and her feet never grew tired or sore. She could have continued on like this, dancing and talking and laughing with him, for hours. For all she knew, she already had, the time slipping away unremarked. 

Tonight was perfect, everything around her comfortable and familiar. Her home, her family, her dance partner. But Alexia couldn’t shake a nagging sense of wrongness, a feeling that something was the tiniest bit off in this perfection. A mistuned string in the orchestra, the hues of the laurel banners a shade off from proper Cousland blue. Some niggling detail that didn’t quite fit. 

But she couldn’t find the flaw. The music was perfectly in tune, and the decor was all exactly as she’d seen it thousands of times. Whatever discrepancy nagged at her subconscious had to lay elsewhere. 

The prince said something, drawing her attention away from the surroundings and back to him. But as she looked at him, the sense of wrongness persisted -- and sharpened. Whatever words he’d said slipped away from her mind as she stared at his face, trying to understand why he suddenly unsettled her, what she could think looked unfamiliar about a man she’d only met this evening… but felt like she’d known for years. 

Forcing herself to ignore the warm humor and the endearing self-consciousness, she studied his features, searching for the discrepancy her subconscious insisted existed. Something in the shape of his eyes? The planes of his face? 

A memory surfaced, indistinct but present, and a tiny scar on his jaw deepened as she watched, as she remembered it should be there. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, the scar was just as it should be. As it had been all evening. As it had been since… since a careless accident had reminded her of the dangers of sparring with real blades against a novice. 

The flash of memory tried to fade as quickly as it had come, but she clung to it, focusing on the moment until it shut out the present. She had been horrified by her mistake, grateful she hadn’t been using her usual greatsword. But why hadn’t she; where had her sword gone, and why had she been using that smaller, cheaper blade? She couldn’t remember. He hadn’t blamed her, trying to hide his winces of pain while she wiped away the blood and applied a poultice, insisting on doing it herself as penance for her error. He’d cracked jokes through the entire thing, trying to stop the shaking of her hands most likely, telling her it was good she hadn’t aimed a few inches higher because he didn’t want to end up lopsided, although then maybe they would stop calling him a... 

The image crystallized so sharply it nearly shattered, a burst of realization almost painful in its intensity. She gasped, shoulders and neck tensing. And then it was past, leaving behind clarity and a different sort of pain, lingering and dulled and horribly familiar. 

“Lady Cousland, are you all right?” The prince’s hand at her waist tightened, drawing her closer to steady her as her steps faltered. 

Rather than answering, Alexia raised her hand from his shoulder and, in what would doubtless be a terrible breach of protocol if that mattered, traced a fingertip over the edge of his very definitely rounded ear. 

“No, I don’t think I am. I’m not sure anything is.” She pulled her other hand free of his and stepped back, out of his arms. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the heartbreakingly familiar details, seeking out the faces of loved ones, the vision blurring as her eyes filled with tears. “ This is… It’s not real, any of it.” 

“Alexia, wait a second. We can sort this out.” Alistair stepped towards her, hands extended in a familiar, calming gesture. 

“No. It’s not real.” Shaking her head, she retreated, keeping distance between them. “I almost believed it, because… because I want it so much, all of this. All of them. I want this back. I want my life back.” 

Her words choked off on a strangled sob, and tears escaped past her furious blinking, trailing lines of warmth down her cheeks. She fought to control her ragged, too-fast breathing. 

Alistair stepped forward again, catching one of her shaking hands in a comforting hold, his voice softly reassuring. “And you can have it. It’s right here, all around you. Accept it, and it can be real.” 

“No. I can’t.” She pulled her hand away, wrenching it forcefully from fingers that clutched more tightly than before. “This could never be real, and I wouldn’t want it to. Not like this.” Her eyes swept one last look around the achingly familiar hall before fixing back on Alistair’s face, subtly wrong, the one flaw in this perfect dream. “Everything else, everyone else, is what I want, but… I never wanted to change you.” 

With a force of will, an effort of sheer belief, Alexia transformed her ballgown into armor and drew her sword from the air. She called out a challenge that rang through the false hall, drawing the attention of everyone present, whether demon or illusion. “Your lies have no power. End this charade and face me.” 

She stood firmly in a defensive stance as they surrounded her, familiar faces on all sides, with Alistair and her parents at the fore. Alexia held her sword out unwavering, glaring defiance at the monsters that dared to defile the images of people she cared about. “Look at you, such pathetic creatures. Forced to steal the shadows of others to have a semblance of substance. You’re nothing. Why is anyone afraid of something so powerless?” 

Mouths opened wide in inhuman howls of fury, and familiar faces distorted into nightmarish monstrosities. Then - and only then - Alexia raised her sword and attacked.


	4. Chapter 4

The green mist of the Fade thinned, revealing a cluster of familiar tents, the first comprehensible thing Alexia had seen since leaving the replica of Castle Cousland. Her pace quickened as she wove through the camp, relief at the comfortable surroundings warring with wariness. What distortions would the demons have created to snare her here? 

Alexia made her way towards the fire, details growing sharper as she neared to the center of the camp. It occurred to her as she went that this dreamscape might not have been created for her. She’d begun on the edge of the setting, entering the false camp with the clear knowledge that this was a creation of the Fade. If it had been made to trick and ensnare someone, as Castle Cousland had tried to do with her, the target must be someone else, someone who had been surrounded by a flawless illusion rather than allowed to see the seams. 

That could have been anyone other than Wynne; the Senior Enchanter was the only one who hadn’t spent time in their little traveling camp. The dream could belong to any of her other companions, but somehow, Alexia wasn’t surprised to find Alistair seated by the fire, where she found him nearly every night, once the nightmares made further sleep impossible. 

She hadn’t expected him to already have company, however. A blonde woman sat beside him, perhaps a handsbreadth closer than usual. Her hair was loose, and she wore simple clothes rather than armor. Alexia could hardly protest those discrepancies in how he chose to see her; her dream had done far worse to him. 

Alexia hesitated just outside the fire’s circle of illumination, uncertain how to approach when she appeared to be already present. If the pause to develop a strategy allowed her to overhear the conversation at the fire, that was purely coincidence. 

She caught only fragments at first, scattered words related to the road ahead, sword practice, and other day-to-day trivial matters. The tone was light and relaxed, lacking the uneasy tension that usually followed half a night’s sleep ravaged by mental images of darkspawn. Alexia couldn’t blame Alistair for imagining their evenings at camp like this; she would prefer to skip the nightmares, too. 

Alexia edged a few steps closer and caught the next part of the conversation, her own voice coming to hear ears from a distance, sounding flat and foreign. 

“Your mother, do you know if she had family? In the Highever alienage, maybe. We could look for them when we get back home. I’m sure someone in the kitchens would know where she came from.” 

Alexia felt a stab of guilt. She’d never even thought to ask if he had extended family. Grappling to accept her new identity as an orphan, she’d embraced Alistair’s lack of family as a point of connection. But she should have asked. Void take her, she’d gotten so twisted up in her own grief that a demonic creation of the Fade made for a more considerate friend. 

Alistair shrugged off the question. “I have no idea if she does; I’ve never tried to find out. If they exist, they weren’t exactly eager to take in a bastard infant when she died.” A hint of bitterness crept into his casual tone, but it didn’t linger. “If my hypothetical relatives left me to make my own way in the world, that’s what I’ll do. I may make a mess of it, but it’ll be my mess.” 

“I’d say you’re not doing badly at all.” 

Alexia agreed wholeheartedly with her Fade twin. She only hoped she would have said so as readily in a similar situation. 

Alistair developed a sudden interest in the fire, and the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence. Alexia contemplated stepping forward to confront the illusion, wondering if killing a demon wearing her own face would bother her more or less than staring down demons mimicking her family. 

She’d nearly decided to risk approaching when Alistair spoke again, his too-casual tone the slightest bit too loud, carrying clearly to where she stood. 

“If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be traveling across the length and breadth of Ferelden, armed and fighting for my life, I’d have thought they were out of their mind. But if they’d added on that I’d be doing all of that alongside Lady Cousland, who spent most nights sitting around a campfire talking to me and laughing more than politely at my stupid jokes… No, I can’t even imagine someone saying that.” 

The Alexia by the fire smiled, tilting her head towards him, fire-gilded hair slipping over her shoulder with the motion. “Things are different now that we’re both Grey Wardens.” 

“All it took for us to be friends was a little thing like drinking darkspawn blood.” The flickering shadows hid Alistair’s expression from view, concealing his reaction to this softer, nearly luminous version of Alexia. 

The woman by the fire’s smile broadened, and her eyes met his. “It was worth it.” 

No, Alexia couldn’t let this stand. The demons of this place could change her hair and wardrobe, could make her prettier and more fragile, but she wouldn't let them put such cruel lies in her mouth. She might not have ever asked Alistair about his family, but she would never let him think he hadn’t mattered to her until recently. 

She stepped forward into the circle of firelight. “Don’t believe her, whatever she is. We were friends long before the Joining.” 

Alistair turned at her voice, eyes widening as he saw her. He frowned, features tightening, and his gaze darted between her and the figure at his side. His hand gripped the knife at his belt, but he didn’t draw it. Yet. 

“Being Wardens has given us a shared goal and time together to work towards it.” Alexia took another step towards the fire, trying to hold his gaze, hoping he could tell reality from illusion more quickly than she had. “But, Alistair, you have been my friend for years, one of the few true friends I've ever had. Don’t let this Fade trick take that past away from us.” 

His eyes fixed onto her, his forehead wrinkling, searching for something. Alexia held her breath, willing him to find whatever he sought, to believe in her over the softer, kinder illusion he’d been given to lure him into staying. 

Alistair continued to stare at her, and it was obvious the moment he reached a decision. His mouth tightened, and he stood sharply. Turning his back on both of them, he strode away from the fire, footfalls heavy, hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his knife. 

Alexia rushed to follow, darting around tent ropes and stakes as she hurried to catch up, slowed by her heavier armor. She called after him, but his only response was a tensing of his shoulders as he stalked away. 

As she drew closer, Alexia could hear him muttering to himself. “Of course it’s the Fade. I should have realized sooner. Things were going well!” 

“Alistair! Would you please wait a second?” Alexia panted as she rushed after him, wondering how her armor could be so heavy when everything here was just in her mind. Or possibly Alistair’s mind, since this was his dream. 

“No.” He didn’t even turn his head. “I’m not talking to a hallucination. Except that I am, but only to tell you I’m not talking to you.” 

“I’m not a hallucination. She was, the other me. A dream construct or maybe a demon. But I’m real.” 

“Of course you are! Because that isn’t at all what a demon-slash-hallucination would say. Still not talking to you.” 

Alexia sighed and continued following after him, grateful there were fewer obstacles to avoid as they neared the edge of the camp, the green fog of the Fade looming up ahead of them. Alistair strode into the nebulous swirling mist without slowing, far bolder than Alexia had been when she’d encountered it outside of the front gates of the “castle”. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into it after him, disoriented by the way the swirling tendrils lapped away from her rather than brushing clammy against her cheeks. Maker, she was coming to hate the Fade. 

The camp receded into the mist, swallowed up by the swirling fog, leaving them surrounded by featureless clouds of green on all sides. Only then did Alistair stop walking, turning a slow circle to survey the ambiguous Fadescape around him. 

He froze when he saw Alexia. “You’re still here.” 

“I am.” She tried not to smirk. 

“Even though I got away from the dream.” 

Alexia nodded. “Even though, yes.”

“So, ah, you weren't lying about being, um, the real you.” 

“No, I wasn’t.” 

“Right…” Realization and contrition slowly spread across his face, and Alexia felt a smile crack through her attempt at a solemn facade. Alistair offered her an awkward smile in return, more nervous than amused. “This is the part where I should start apologizing, then?” 

“For what?” If anything, given their relative dreams, she ought to be apologizing to him. 

He rubbed at the back of his neck, not quite meeting her eyes. “Let’s start with having called you a demon, and we can go from there.” 

Alexia’s response froze in her throat. The swirling mist seemed to grow thicker, a roiling green mass that nearly hid Alistair from view. As she watched, he faded further, becoming translucent and appearing insubstantial. 

“Wait, I said I was sorry!” His voice sounded thin, distant like it came from across a courtyard or through a wall. The hand he reached out towards her passed through a coil of fog without disturbing it in the least. 

“Don’t worry. I found you; I’ll do it again. And don’t trust anything that seems too good to be true.” 

She couldn’t tell if he heard her final warning; he was gone before she finished speaking. Grimly, Alexia set off through the formlessness of the Fade, sword in hand, ready to deal firmly with whatever tried to get in her way next. 

 

The next time Alistair saw Alexia, after vanishing through sheer mortification -- it turned out that when you wanted to melt into the floor to avoid an awkward conversation, in the Fade, it actually happened -- there wasn’t an opportunity to talk. Instead, there were demons and abominations and really angry templars. 

By the time he could talk to her, without anyone trying to kill someone or listen in, their little group was on the road back to Redcliffe, having acquired a bunch of lyrium and a Senior Enchanter. Alistair made his way to Alexia’s side and matched his pace to hers. He kept his eyes on the road; this would be bad enough without seeing her face. “Can we talk for a few minutes? I have an apology I need to finish. Assuming neither of us is going to vanish this time.” 

“You don’t need to apologize; I’m not offended. Distrusting everything and everyone in the Fade is only sensible.” 

Right, then, that was the easy part taken care of. Which meant he didn’t have any excuse that would let him put off the real apology he owed her. “I started to suspect things might not be exactly what they seemed when there were two of you talking to me. I’m clever that way.” 

Her amused huff of laughter sounded somewhat strained, and Alistair cringed. He needed to make this better somehow, but he’d crossed so many lines that he didn’t know where to start. And if he ended up apologizing for something she didn’t realize he’d done, that would only make it worse by letting her know just how many things she ought to be upset about. 

“So, uh, would you accept a general, all-purpose apology for basically everything that happened in the Fade? It might save some time.” 

“No, that isn’t…” Alexia’s voice remained tight, and he risked a glance at her face, lines of tension around a pinched mouth. 

Maker’s blood, he’d screwed up even more than he thought. How much had she overheard? He didn’t think he’d even said that much that would… Void take it, it didn’t matter. “I can put together a full list, then, if you’re willing to be patient. Would you prefer chronological or alphabetical?” 

“Alistair, that’s not…” Her words cut off with a frustrated exhalation, and she halted in the middle of the road so abruptly that he carried on for a few steps before realizing she wasn’t still beside him. Turning back, he saw her standing with her jaw tight and her eyes hard. But the anger didn’t seem directed at him. “I don’t want you to apologize. You don’t need to apologize. If anything, I should. But then I’d have to explain why I need to, and… I don’t think I can stand to.” 

Wait, she was angry with _herself_? He’d had a desire demon put together a whole selfish fantasy where this brave, elegant, and all right, yes, beautiful noblewoman was entirely focused on his feelings, and she thought she had more to apologize for? Not likely. “You saved me from being stuck in the Fade. That probably balances out whatever else happened. Especially since none of it actually happened.” He folded his arms. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, then you aren’t either.” 

Her expression of self-recrimination faded into a rueful smile. “So you’re suggesting we should carry on and pretend none of this ever happened. Because outside of our heads, it didn’t.” 

“We saved a lot of mages and got what we need to save the arl’s son. That’s more important than any strange dreams, right? Let’s focus on what worked out and forget about… whatever else.” 

Not that Alistair was likely to ever forget Alexia -- the real Alexia, not the imaginary one created by the dream -- heatedly defending their friendship and imploring him to trust in what he meant to her. That wasn’t the sort of thing a person forgot. Even if it had been the part of his dream he was least inclined to believe, it was a nice memory to hold onto. 

 

Alexia ran her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair, smoothing it the best she could, and pulled her arming jacket on over the sweat-dampened linen shirt she’d slept in. Shoving her feet into boots, she pushed open the canvas flap to let cool night air into her tent. Her hands didn’t shake, and her heartbeat slowed to normal fairly quickly as she drew in deep, steady breaths. Either the nightmares were getting less severe with time or she’d seen enough horrors while awake to no longer be fazed by the ones she got in her dreams. Even so, she wasn’t inclined to go back to sleep and risk falling right back into that one. 

Stepping out of the tent, she tilted her head back, seeking any hint of breeze on her face and taking a moment to stare at the stars in a clear sky not blocked by a thick forest canopy. Maker’s breath, after the horrors of the Deep Roads and the impenetrable tangle of the Brecilian Forest, it was nice to stand under the open sky. 

Alistair already sat by the fire when she got there. He handed her a mug of warm tea as she sat down beside him. “I got a head start.” 

Thanking him, she wrapped her hands around the cup, its warmth comforting even though she wasn’t cold, and sipped thoughtfully at the tea. For Alistair to have already heated up water and steeped the herbs… She glanced at him sidelong, studying his eyes in the flickering firelight. “You haven’t slept, have you?” 

“It’s a new strategy. Nightmares can’t wake you up if you never sleep to begin with.” His bright grin almost hid the tension around his eyes. “We should suggest it to the rest of the Grey Wardens. If we ever meet any.” 

“I’m sure they’ll be grateful for your clever insight. Assuming you haven’t collapsed from exhaustion by then.” 

“You can tell them about it if I have.” He fixed her with a stern glare. “But don’t try to take credit for my brilliant idea.” 

“I promise that you’ll receive full attribution for this plan.” 

“I’d better. It was my idea.” Satisfied, Alistair leaned forward to refill his mug from the pot of tea warming by the edge of the fire. 

Alexia watched him with a faint smile, wondering which end of the road had kept him awake: the Landsmeet in Denerim ahead of them or the Brecilian Forest full of elves and werewolves they’d left behind? If she had to guess, she suspected it was the latter; he’d been strangely quiet since they’d arrived at the Dalish camp. 

She waited until he swallowed his mouthful of tea. “How are you doing with everything from the Brecilian?” 

He laughed softly, with no humor to it. “Am I that obvious?” 

“Or I’m perceptive enough to see through your mysterious, enigmatic facade, if you prefer.” She paused before adding, “Also, you’re not sleeping. As much as I enjoy waking up to hot tea, it’s not worth having you dead on your feet tomorrow. Want to talk about it?” 

Alistair sat silently for a moment, holding his tea and staring into the fire. When he spoke, his voice was low and unfamiliar, stripped of any of his usual playful tone. “The Dalish… I’d never met any, but you grow up with all of these stories. Even those of us who’ve never thought about running away to find a Dalish clan know that they’re… real elves, what we’re supposed to be. After a long day of dirty, smelly work, every time someone yells at the filthy, lazy knife-ear, whenever you look at a thing you know is forever out of reach… a little voice in the back of your head says, ‘ _This wouldn’t happen if you were Dalish. If you were a proper elf._ ’ It’s a dream to hold onto, I guess. A place where everything is better.” 

He had coiled in on himself while talking, head down and tea cradled close against his chest. His hunched shoulders twitched up in a tiny shrug accompanied by a mirthless huff of laughter. “I guess I hadn’t realized I believed it.” 

Alexia swallowed a mouthful of tea gone bitter on her tongue, aching for his pain that she would never be able to understand. “Alistair, I…” She reached out a hand, stopping short of touching his arm. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised that people are people, even if they’re people who live in wagons and tattoo their faces.” He sighed. “I just thought they’d be… better somehow. But their Keeper, the way he lied to them, he was every bit as petty and selfish as any human noble. Um… no offense?”

She chuckled to brush away his concern. “I’ve spent more time around nobles than you have, and I can’t say you’re far wrong for most of them.” 

He gave her a wan smile that faded quickly. “Cammen destroyed a lot of illusions, you know. He’s been part of the clan his whole life, and he still can’t earn his --” He gestured at his face. “-- thing and be taken seriously. That doesn’t do much for the myth of running away to join the Dalish and getting the life that’s out of reach.” He licked his lips and added, too quickly, “Not that I ever thought about running away to join the Dalish.” 

“It doesn’t matter if you did.” Alexia shook her head at the hasty, unconvincing denial he seemed to think he needed. “You’re a Grey Warden now, so no one can arrest you for anything you may have done before. And more importantly, I taught you how to use a sword! Does that sound like I care about you following all of the stupid rules of how to be a meek little elf? If I’d had to put up with Nan yelling at me day in and day out, I’d have thought about running away, too.” She reached out again, her hand resting lightly just above his elbow. “But I’m glad you stayed.” 

“I am, too.” His smile lingered this time rather than twisting into something bitter. “And not only because I could have ended up several steps behind Cammen. It would have been a shame to miss all of this.” His broad gesture took in the whole camp, and Alexia told herself it was only wishful thinking to imagine it included her more specifically. 

Alexia sipped at her tea in silence after that, basking in the warmth of the fire and letting her thoughts wander, inevitably returning to Cammen. She found it interesting that Alistair should bring him up. The young hunter and his… fiancee now, she supposed, had been in her thoughts frequently as well, although probably for different reasons. Ones that made her wonder when she’d become a hypocrite, willing to give advice she hadn’t thought to take. 

But she could correct that, now, if she could bring herself to take the same risk she’d nudged that girl towards. 

“I need to…” She grimaced, thinking about what she’d been about to say. “First, I want to be very clear: this isn’t the Fade.” 

“Hmm…” Alistair made a show of studying their surroundings. “I think you’re right. And it isn’t the Deep Roads, or a cult outpost in the Frostbacks, or a cave full of werewolves, or any of the other marvelous places we’ve spent time the past few months, either. In fact, this, right here, is a remarkably nice place in comparison.” 

“It is, yes.” Alexia sighed. He had a point, but he wasn’t making this any easier. “But I want to be very specifically clear that this isn’t the Fade. Especially with what I’m about to say next. All right?” 

“Not the Fade, got it.” Alistair regarded her warily, directing the full weight of his attention at her for the first time since she’d joined him at the fire. 

“But it turns out that… a lot of things are different now that we’re Wardens.” 

“Some things, at least.” Alistair tilted his head thoughtfully, aggressively missing the point. “The nightmares and ability to sense darkspawn are new, but I’ve always been willing to eat anything moderately edible if given the chance.” 

Ignoring the inanity, Alexia forged ahead. “I’ve been thinking quite a bit recently about something from my experience in the Fade, something I should have realized or understood sooner.” And now she had begun rambling. No more stalling. “The dream I had showed me that, if I were free to consider men solely on their character and personality, rather than background and bloodline, I would prefer you over any other man I know. And it’s taken me rather too long to come to the realization that, being a Grey Warden, having given up my rank and claim, I have the freedom to do precisely that. As a Grey Warden rather than a noble, I can make that choice. If you’re interested.” 

Alistair’s eyes hadn’t left her face during that entire, somewhat awkward speech. He stared at her now in a hopeful sort of confused disbelief. Then he shook his head with a short, nervous laugh. “Can you go through that again? Because I don’t think I followed all of it right. It almost sounded like you were…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a faint smile turned rueful rather than hopeful. 

“Like I was what?” Setting her mug aside, Alexia folded her hands, fingers tightly interlaced lest she reach for him in a touch that might not be welcome. “Suggesting a the possibility of a romantic involvement and asking if you would be open to considering it?” 

“I definitely wouldn’t have put it that way.” A smirk flashed across his face, fading into a stunned look of mild awe. “And you’re really, completely sure this isn’t the Fade? Maybe I fell asleep by the campfire, and this is all a dream. I’m going to wake up with my boots on fire and be horribly disappointed.” 

“Disappointed? Meaning that if this isn’t a dream, you would be interested?” She tried to latch onto the closest thing to an answer in his maelstrom of words, although she thought the tone of his rambling and the tiny, shocked smile on his face told her what she needed to know. 

“Maker’s breath, of course I would.” The tiny smile grew into a lopsided, wry grin. “Which is why I’m pretty sure it can’t be real. I seem to recall someone telling me anything too good to be true couldn’t be trusted.” 

Alexia smirked at the teasing note that entered his voice as he used her words against her. “As a counter argument in favor of reality, I seem to recall that the version of me in your dream was rather prettier.” She couldn’t imagine anyone dreaming up a romantic vision with sweat-matted hair, dressed in a rust-spotted arming jacket. Maybe she should have waited for a better time to say this.

“That’s not possible. You’re… beautiful.” He stared at her with something approaching reverence, and Alexia felt her cheeks grow warm. 

“Does that mean you believe I’m real?” Somehow her hand was on his arm. She didn’t remember moving it, but the solid warmth of him grounded her. 

“It means I’d be a fool to deny the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His eyes never left her face, and Alexia couldn’t look away, captivated by his nearness. 

She ran her thumb over the tiny scar on his jaw, her touch lingering. Then his lips brushed against hers in a barely-there touch, tentative, questioning. She leaned in, returning the kiss, slipping her hand to the back of his neck to draw him closer in answer and reassurance. He responded without hesitation, mouth pressing against hers more firmly, his hand at her waist like they were dancing, like he needed to steady them both against this dizzying change in their world. 

When they parted, Alistair looked dazed, staring at her in wonder, a pleased smile curling his lips she couldn’t stop her eyes from slipping towards. She must look equally giddy and amazed herself. Did he find her reaction as sweet and endearing as she did his? 

“I’ve decided. This is definitely not a dream.” His voice was low and soft, still reverent but also intimate. “I’d never have imagined anything so perfect.” 

Too filled with happiness to manage words, Alexia curled up against his side, nestling her head on his shoulder. After a moment’s hesitation, Alistair wrapped his arm around her back, and she settled in to bask in the warmth of the fire and the feeling of being cherished.


	5. Chapter 5

Alexia approached the meeting with Eamon with the wary caution it warranted. He’d been generous and welcoming to a fault, allowing their little band to stay in his town estate and providing rooms with everything required to clean up from their time on the road. Eamon made for an excellent host, and he was openly grateful, acknowledging what they had done for both himself and his son. But that was no reason to fully trust a man who had been playing the Game since before Alexia was born. 

The arl had been remarkably cagey about the candidate he planned to put forth against Loghain and Anora at the Landsmeet. All he’d been willing to say when they spoke in Redcliffe, during his recovery, was that he had plans in motion and would share their results when he saw what had borne fruit. From his carefully chosen words, Alexia suspected he’d had no definite candidate at hand at the time, despite having gone ahead with calling the nobles to gather for a Landsmeet. He’d better have secured one by now. 

Hair still damp and dressed in finely made clothes that felt too light on her shoulders after months in armor, Alexia rapped at the door to Eamon’s study, entering at his invitation. 

“Ah, Alexia, good. I’m glad you arrived when you did. Your voice will be invaluable in the Landsmeet. With only three days until the assembly, we need to get a plan in place. I trust you’ll have no objection to the candidate we’ll be backing, which leaves only our arguments...” 

The rest of the arl’s words faded into insignificance, eclipsed by the sight of the man seated next to him. 

“Fergus!” Surging past a moment of shock when she thought she might faint, Alexia ran across the room, embracing her brother as he stood to meet her. “When no one could find you after Ostagar, I thought…” She muffled her ragged breathing against his shoulder, gripping him too tightly but not caring. 

“I know, pup. Easy.” The familiar voice resonated with something inside her, filling a place that had been empty long enough she’d almost forgotten it ached. He returned her embrace, strong arms holding her just as hard. “I thought similar when I heard about the attack at Highever.” 

Alexia’s stomach twisted. “I should have been the one to tell you. Fergus, I… I’m so sorry…” 

“Hush, it isn’t your fault.” The strain in his voice, hearing her strong older brother as pained and lost as she felt, shattered what little composure she had. 

“No, I should have… I should have…” 

As her voice broke, the loss and helplessness overwhelming her anew, Alexia heard the click of the door latching, Eamon giving the two of them space for their grief. 

Pulling away, she composed herself as much as possible and sat down in the chair beside her brother’s. Even if he’d heard about the attack, there were details no one else could give him, and she owed him that. Owed him Father’s last instructions and Mother’s fierce, protective love. Owed him the knowledge that his son and wife had died cleanly, with none of the atrocities a soldier’s grieving mind would conjure up. She owed Fergus the truth, all of it. 

She folded her hands in her lap and raised her chin. “What do you want to know?” 

 

Over an hour later, cheeks wiped dry but eyes stinging, Alexia went to find Eamon to reconvene the interrupted strategy meeting. She found the arl in the company of an elven woman in considerable distress, who introduced herself as Erlina, a handmaiden of Anora. Instead of planning for the Landsmeet, she found herself undertaking a rescue mission to save their political opponent from her own supposed allies. 

From Rendon Howe. 

After reliving Howe’s treachery to recount events to Fergus, her need for vengeance burned hot. She had swore to Father that she would make Howe pay for the blood and destruction he’d wrought, and an opportunity to slip into his home unremarked, to get close to him unnoticed, had been handed to her like a gift from the Maker. She wondered if Eamon could tell that the queen’s welfare was not her primary concern. She wondered if he cared. 

Before gathering her companions to join Erlina at Howe’s newest estate bought with blood, Alexia made Eamon swear not to tell Fergus where she had gone or why. However much right he might have to join her in seeking vengeance, Fergus didn’t have Grey Warden status to shield him from consequences. And if Eamon truly meant to propose her brother as a candidate for the throne, Fergus needed to keep his hands clean. She could take care of this and tell him about it later. As long as Rendon Howe was dead, it shouldn’t matter whose hand held the blade. 

She turned to leave, fingers already itching for her sword hilt. 

 

The silence after Rendon Howe’s final gurgling breath was broken only by low growling from Kaz and Alexia’s own harsh, ragged breathing. 

She stood in place, burning the moment into her memory, never to be forgotten. If the images of her family's deaths were going to haunt her, at least they would have company. 

Finally, satisfied, she pulled her sword free from between the corpse’s ribs. “My _nephew_ deserved better, you traitor.” Flicking blood from her blade to spatter on the stained stone floor, she turned and left the room without looking back. 

They freed the imprisoned queen on their way out of the estate only because Leliana had thought to check the dead arl's pockets, turning up the necessary enchanted key. Alexia took Anora’s gratitude for precisely what it was worth: little to nothing. Even if what she said about how she’d ended up here was true, it only proved that her treacherous allies had turned on her once they no longer thought they could profit from her. That seemed more a fitting consequence of making risky alliances than a reason for sympathy. 

Regardless, Alexia agreed to see Anora safely off the grounds. She needed to show up at the Landsmeet in good health and under her own power, lest Eamon and Fergus be suspected of foul play. To protect her brother, Alexia must take care of this woman. 

So Alexia kept her secret when Loghain’s lieutenant confronted them, allowing the queen in her stolen uniform to slip away unnoticed. For her own part, Alexia was willing to speak with Loghain. With Rendon dead, perhaps the teyrn would be more open to hearing reason. And Alexia didn’t fear putting herself in his power, temporarily. Her rank and bloodline should shield her from any mistreatment. A teyrn’s daughter -- a teyrn’s sister did not simply disappear without questions being asked. Rendon may have considered himself above such basic rules, but look where it had gotten him. Surely Loghain would have more sense. 

There was no reason, however, to assume that the protection of her name would extend to others in her company. When Ser Cauthrien demanded Alistair’s surrender as well, Alexia responded with all of the clout a noble’s daughter could bring to bear. 

“That is out of the question. I will surrender to your authority on the condition that you allow my companions to depart freely and unharmed. All of them.” 

“The woman and the hound are free to go, but the elf is covered under our warrant. My orders are to arrest all Grey Wardens, and I will do my duty.” Ser Cauthrien stood proud and rigid with the certainty of her authority. Whatever Loghain had done to earn her loyalty, he surely had it. 

But Alexia would not be cowed either. “Whatever rumors you’ve heard are incorrect; I’m the only Grey Warden left in Ferelden. He isn’t a Warden; he’s a servant, my father’s kennel master. I persuaded Duncan to bring him along to Ostagar to tend to my warhound before the battle. He knows nothing that would be of use to Loghain unless the teyrn has pups to be whelped.” 

Alexia heard a sharply indrawn breath behind her, followed by a muffled grunt, then hissed whispers. She made no movement to draw attention to the exchange. Hopefully Leliana could keep Alistair from throwing himself headlong into the danger her lies were intended to spare him from. 

Ser Cauthrien appeared unmoved by her argument. “You can take that up with the Regent. I have my orders; I will bring both of you in, either peacefully or by force.” 

“I wouldn’t recommend that.” Alexia met the woman’s hard stare with one of her own. “As I said, he is in my service, and this places him under my protection. I assume your lord is familiar with the loyalty that is due to a faithful servant in return for his devotion. I would repay his service poorly by allowing him to be imprisoned needlessly. Let the elf go with the others, and I will come with you peacefully. Otherwise…” Alexia ran her eyes appraisingly over the assembled soldiers, crossbows at the ready. “I may not be able to take down all of your forces, but I promise you there will be casualties if this comes to steel. Are you willing to sacrifice your men’s lives in order to lock up an elven servant of no consequence?” 

Alexia refused to flinch under Ser Cauthrien’s penetrating scrutiny. Alexia didn’t know what the woman was looking for in her face, but it was clear the moment that she found it. Ser Cauthrien raised her hand and barked a sharp command. Alexia tensed, prepared for an attack, but the soldiers lowered their crossbows to point at the floor, the men remaining on guard but no longer posing an active threat. 

“Your _servant_ may go with the others.” It wasn’t clear, from the way she emphasized the word, whether Loghain’s lieutenant believed Alexia’s claim, but she had chosen to accept it. 

Alexia kept her shoulders from sagging with relief as Alistair walked past the line of guards, wearing a barely-suppressed snarl that matched Kazaril’s. Leliana had a firm grip on his arm, keeping him moving past the line of crossbowmen, and Kaz padded at his other side, giving a warning growl whenever one of the soldiers drew too close. 

Once they were safely gone, Alexia returned her attention to Ser Cauthrien, confidently relaxed now that she had no one to worry about protecting. “As agreed, I surrender myself into your custody.” 

One of the soldiers approached her, reaching for something at his belt, and Alexia held her hands out to be bound. Instead of cord, he drew a short sword, raising it with a reversed grip to bring the pommel down hard on her temple. 

There was a bloom of pain, then everything went dark. 

 

Leather boots scraped on stone, approaching footsteps, and Alexia struggled to her feet, gripping the bars of her cell as her head swam with the movement. She managed not to vomit, but her ears rung and her vision blurred for a moment. Gritting her teeth, she chided herself for being spoiled; most warriors had to deal with head injuries without the benefit of healing magic. 

When she surrendered to Loghain’s lieutenant, Alexia had expected to be led to a guarded chamber similar to the room where Anora had been held. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that she might be knocked over the head, stripped, and thrown into a cell. She should have known better than to think her name and bloodline would mean anything to the man who had left his king and son-in-law to die for political gain. A teyrn’s honor must mean something very different to Loghain than it had to Father. 

The footsteps grew closer, and Alexia held her head up, prepared to stare the guards down rather than betraying weakness to her captors. 

But it wasn’t Loghain’s guards who appeared in the corridor outside her cell; it was rescue. Sending a brief prayer of gratitude to the Maker and his Bride, she let her shoulders sag with relief. 

“Maker’s blood…” Alistair stood on the other side of the bars, reaching for her hand. “Are you all right?” 

Alexia released her grip on the iron and let him take her hand, blinking as his familiar features failed to come into focus. Why was he here? He wasn’t supposed to be here; that had been very important. “I lied to keep you safe. What are you doing here?” 

“Returning the favor.” Reaching into a pocket with his free hand, he pulled out a small packet. “Wynne sent this. It’s not as much as she could do in person, but it should keep you on your feet until we get you back to the arl’s estate. Hopefully.” 

Alexia took her hand back to unwrap the packet, finding a small poultice that she pressed to her temple, hissing at the familiar numbing sensation of elfroot infused with a hint of ice magic. She closed her eyes, savoring the relief from the pain. The nausea subsided to manageable levels, and when she opened her eyes again, the surroundings came into sharper focus. Including Alistair’s worried expression. 

“That should do it.” Leliana’s pronouncement was followed by a click and the large door to the cell swinging open. 

“Thank you.” Alexia smiled at Leliana. “It’s good to be out of there.” Even if they did still need to escape the larger prison. 

Alistair was there as soon as she stepped through the door. “I can’t help but notice you didn’t answer before. Are you all right?” 

“Wynne’s taken care of the worst of it.” She moved the magic-infused poultice away from her temple, pleasantly surprised by how much improved she felt already. “I’m more glad to see that Ser Cauthrien kept her word instead of going after you as soon as I was unconscious.” 

Relieved, she caught him in an impulsive hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. He shouldn’t have put himself at risk by coming here after her, but Maker, it was good to see him. “Thank you for coming to get me.” 

“I… of course I came.” His arms wrapped around her in a tentative hold, loosening and shifting every time he made contact, like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. “Maker’s breath, I… where’s your armor?” 

Alexia pulled away, feeling her cheeks flush with the reminder that she wasn’t wearing anything to speak of. “It was gone when I came to. I assume it’s around here somewhere, along with the rest of my things.” She glanced around, looking anywhere but Alistair and feeling her face warm further. 

“Perhaps we should look for it on our way out.” Despite her helpful words, Leliana’s voice held amusement. 

Alexia opted not to look at her as she searched the corridor for an alcove where her armor and weaponry might be stashed. She didn’t need to confirm that she was being laughed at. 

 

After meeting with Eamon to inform him of everything that had happened -- Anora’s rescue, Rendon Howe’s removal from the playing field, two nobles found imprisoned in his dungeons, disturbing rumors about problems in the alienage, and her own arrest by Loghain’s lieutenant -- Alexia went looking for Alistair. 

She found him in the estate’s library, sitting on a small couch tucked away in a corner behind a bookcase, shielded from casual view so effectively that she walked past the place twice before spotting him. He had his head buried in a book, engrossed in whatever he was reading, but he greeted her with a smile when she approached his hidden nook. Alistair tucked his book away as she drew closer, although not before Alexia glimpsed a vaguely familiar cover, something she might have read years ago but couldn’t place at the moment. 

Now that she had found him, Alexia’s feet dragged crossing the final few yards of hardwood floor. Now that the crisis of escaping Fort Drakon had passed, she needed to address what had happened beforehand. When Loghain’s soldiers appeared, she had treated Alistair like… well, like he’d been used to being treated his whole life, she supposed. But not by her. It had been calculated cruelty, intended to encourage their enemies to overlook him. An act, for his protection. Surely he understood what she’d done and why. He must know her well enough to realize she couldn’t have meant any of it. Didn’t he? 

Alexia sat on the couch next to him, careful to leave some space between them. She folded her hands together in her lap to stop them from fidgeting. “I want to thank you again, for coming to get me out of Fort Drakon. And I understand if you’re upset with me for… any of it.” 

Coward that she was, she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye or say it directly: _for all but calling you a worthless, lazy knife-ear._

“It’s not like I was going to leave you there. Loghain has a lot to learn about how to treat guests.” 

His dry tone conjured images of Iminric’s bruises, Riordan’s lips cracked from dehydration. She had blamed Rendon for their mistreatment, but it did raise the question of how much Loghain had known -- or had chosen not to know -- about what his ally was doing. 

Alistair shifted, the couch cushion dipping, and drew her attention back to the present. “I’m not upset with you for anything. Maybe a little disappointed…” 

Alexia winced. Disappointment, that was worse than anger. Except he sounded teasing rather than offended. She glanced up to catch a tiny, nervy smile and a glint in his eyes as he continued. 

“Maybe it isn’t realistic, but in every story I’ve read where a brave hero carries out a daring, clever plan to rescue a princess, he gets rewarded for his efforts.” 

The unexpected complaint startled Alexia into the most irrelevant objection. “I’m not a princess.” 

Alistair responded a lopsided, bashful grin. “I’d hoped that wouldn’t matter, that it might be close enough for you to make an exception.” 

“And what sort of reward were you hoping for?” Unsure where this was going, she tried to recall details from half-remembered books read half a lifetime ago. “I’m afraid I don’t have half a kingdom to offer you.” 

“Good, I wouldn’t know what to do with one.” He mock-shuddered. “Who wants that much responsibility? No, I was hoping for maybe a kiss.” 

Oh, the nervous smile and playful teasing made much more sense from that angle. Putting aside her worry -- he must not be too upset with her -- Alexia shifted on the couch, leaning closer. “I think that can be arranged.” 

This kiss was different from the one by the fire, less hesitant. His lips moved against hers in a leisurely, drawn out exploration, and she responded in kind. Alistair’s hand rested on the back of her neck, drawing her close, his thumb stroking tiny patterns just below her ear, and she wanted to melt. Arm wrapped around his back, she pressed closer, savoring the feeling of connection, of being wanted and cherished. 

When they finally parted, Alistair grinned at her, giddy and slightly flushed. “I don’t suppose you’ll be getting into more trouble so I can rescue you again.” 

The laugh that bubbled out of her chest almost sounded like an undignified giggle. “The way things have been going, I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“I’ll look forward to it.” Alistair’s widening grin faltered. “Except… not if it means you putting yourself in danger, so promise me you won’t."

Alexia remembered the worry on his face when he’d found her in that cell. As much as she’d like to spare him that pain, it wasn’t a promise she could make, not while keeping her vows to Father and her oath as a Warden. And Alistair knew that as well as she did. 

Rather than answering, she smirked at him, running a hand over his shoulder. “You’re the one taking bold risks at the moment.” She leaned in closer, enjoying the way Alistair’s arm slid along her back, to whisper conspiratorially. “My brother’s around here somewhere.” 

The look of panic on Alistair’s face was almost comical as he pulled back and stared around the library guiltily, as if he expected Fergus to spring out from behind a bookcase and strike him down for daring to kiss her. 

“I was only teasing.” Unable to fight her smile, Alexia leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, enjoying the feel of his skin under her lips. “But we should probably continue this another time, somewhere we’re less likely to be stumbled over, by Fergus or anyone else.”


	6. Chapter 6

The Landsmeet began according to the plans Eamon had laid out. As the noble who had called the assembly, he had the right to speak first, calling for Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren to be tried by the Landsmeet for treason. Alexia, her rank giving her the right to voice but not vote, laid out most of the evidence supporting the charge: attempted assassination of a sitting arl, imprisonment and torture of one bann’s son and another’s brother, selling Fereldan citizens into slavery. Her accusations provoked shock and heated argument, but in the end, as Alfstanna and Sighard joined their voices to hers, the evidence against him proved daming. 

By vote of the assembled nobility of Ferelden, Loghain Mac Tir was found guilty of treason, stripped of all rank and honors, and executed within the Landsmeet chambers. 

Perhaps Alexia should have felt vindicated or accomplished, but watching her one-time childhood hero’s blood pool on the flagstones, all she felt was tired. 

With the initial business brought to its grisly conclusion, Anora stepped forward, pale and slightly green, and attempted to take control of the meeting. Her ringing words carried through the hall -- Alexia could imagine all too well what it took for her voice not to quaver, and she respected the woman for it -- but were quickly drowned out by objections. 

When the shouting was brought to order, Gallagher Wulff’s gruff voice rose to formalize the protest. “As dowager queen, Anora Mac Tir has no authority to preside over this gathering. She held the crown matrimonial through her marriage to King Cailan, but she has never been confirmed to the throne in her own right. This body cannot recognize her as its head.” 

Predictably, Bann Ceorlic, who had been Loghain’s most vocal defender and historically a staunch ally of the Mac Tirs, immediately introduced a motion to confirm Anora as queen in her own right. Eamon, naturally, opposed him, and debate began anew. 

Ceorlic quickly moved to distance Anora from her father’s crimes. “Everything we heard earlier has to be put aside; the queen must be considered on her own merits. Surely we can all agree that a daughter cannot be held responsible for the actions of her father. I sincerely hope that no one would suggest that we drag Delilah Howe here to lay her father’s crimes at her feet.” 

Alexia barely waited to be recognized before taking the floor again. “Rendon Howe never claimed to derive his authority from his daughter; I doubt he even recognized she had any. Loghain, on the other hand… Every action he took was in Anora’s name, acting in the dubious role of her regent. Setting aside the question of why a grown woman, one who claims to have ruled Ferelden in all but name for the past decade, would need a regent, by appointing him in that role, she gave him free rein. Every order he gave was backed by her authority. Every directive he signed bore her seal. She is complicit in his treason; he could have done none of it without her support.”

“Do you assume the queen was at her father’s shoulder every hour of every day over the past year?” Ceorlic offered a strident defense. “She was not privy to all of his plans, not aware of the extent to which he abused his power in her name. You cannot hold her responsible for actions she did not endorse or know of.” 

“In fact, we can.” Alexia refused to back down. “Ignorance is not an acceptable excuse in a monarch. I have been in Denerim for three days -- three days! -- and I discovered Loghain selling our nation’s citizens into slavery to fund his civil war, imprisoning his political opponents and allowing them to be tortured. It took me three days to uncover this vile treason. Anora has been here the entire time.” 

“Many people were in Denerim over the past year! Are you suggesting every resident of the city is guilty of treason for not stopping Loghain?” Ceorlic’s pompous, condescending sneer only fueled Alexia’s anger. 

“Only those who claimed authority over the city, to be its caretakers. If Urien Kendells were here, if he hadn’t become yet another casualty of the so-called regent’s rise to power, I would put the same questions to him. How did this happen in his city without his knowledge? If Anora didn’t know, she should have.” Alexia turned her gaze from Ceorlic to her true target, Anora herself, standing rigid and composed, save for spots of red fury burning high on her cheeks. Alexia gave her a nod of respect and admiration before continuing to address the assembly. “I will not insult the dowager queen’s intelligence by suggesting she was too stupid to realize that her father had gone too far. Perhaps she did not know the specifics of his actions, but that can only have been because she did not wish to know.” 

Alexia held her tongue after that, although at times she had to bite it so hard it bled. She had made her points and been heard; to repeat herself would make her sound strident rather than strong. 

Ultimately, Ceorlic’s motion to confirm Anora to the throne was defeated, as was Alfstanna’s motion to have her stripped of her position as Teyrna of Gwaren. It seemed the Landsmeet was not eager to set a precedent of attainder, lest any of their relatives turn traitor and condemn or disinherit their entire family for one person’s crimes. 

With Anora’s immediate fate settled, the Landsmeet turned to the serious question of selecting a new monarch, something it should have undertaken sooner than a year after King Cailan’s death without an heir. As the arl who had called the Landsmeet, Eamon was again given the first opportunity to speak, and he nominated Fergus, who had thus far remained largely silent, staying above the mudslinging of the debate. 

“For Ferelden’s next king, I submit to you Teyrn Fergus Cousland.” Eamon’s voice rang through the hall, polished and pitched to carry, refined through a lifetime of political speech-making. “I don’t need to tell you about the Cousland family, a respected noble line with a long history of service to Ferelden and a commitment to upholding their duty and honor. I don’t need to remind any but the youngest of you about the crucial role that Teyrn Bryce Cousland and Teryna Eleanor Mac Eanraig Cousland played during the rebellion that placed King Maric of the line of Calenhad on the throne of Ferelden. I can offer Fergus no higher praise than to affirm that he is truly, in every way possible, his father’s son -- and his mother’s. You will find no one more honorable, committed, and capable to rule our threatened nation in these trying times.” 

Banns from the northlands, those who rode under the banner of Highever, spoke of Fergus’s bravery and leadership during and after the battle at Ostagar. They lauded him for the quick thinking and careful strategy that kept the vast majority of his troops alive after being cut off from the main army on a scouting mission. Others rose to speak about Fergus’s competence in other areas, his honor and intelligence. Some of the speeches were tributes not to Fergus himself, but to Father and Mother, and Alexia wiped away any tears that escaped onto her cheeks, grateful she was not expected to speak. There was opposition, most notably from Ceorlic and his neighbors from southern bannorns who had likely hoped to advance their own interests by appointing a ruler of their choosing. But in the end, Fergus was confirmed as the new King of Ferelden, chosen by the assembled Landsmeet and entrusted with the care and leadership of the kingdom. 

In his first act as King, Fergus renounced his claim to Highever, declaring that no person could honorably and effectively serve two holdings. A clever move, it set precedent -- and royal precedent at that -- against anyone else trying to repeat Rendon’s overreach. The next ambitious arl might think twice before expanding his grasp, knowing that he would not be permitted to hold whatever additional titles he took. 

“Having no heir of my body to receive my former title of teyrn…” 

Alexia couldn’t imagine what it cost her brother to pronounce those words so calmly, in a voice of solemn authority rather than raging grief. Distracted by the image of poor, betrayed Oren that rose up in her mind, she nearly missed what Fergus said next. 

“I appoint as Teyrna of Highever my sister, Alexia Cousland. She has proven herself more than worthy to serve the people of Highever and Ferelden in this role.” 

Alexia stared at her brother in stunned silence. That wasn’t… He couldn’t… It shouldn’t be possible to appoint her as teyrna. Her status as a Grey Warden ought to preclude her from holding a title. And yet, if the alternative was giving away Highever, letting some other family take over their family home as Rendon had done… She would accept the role and responsibility. Assuming the Landsmeet let her. 

One of the southern banns raised precisely that objection, declaring her ineligible because of her oath to the Grey Wardens. 

Before Alexia or Fergus could speak in her defense, Gallagher Wulff claimed the floor. “She is a Grey Warden, this much is true. But in a time of crisis, when the Blight threatens to devour our lands and lives, I say that is an asset rather than a hindrance. If Ferelden is to survive as anything but a blighted ruin, we need Grey Wardens. You question her loyalty? If she were loyal to Weisshaupt rather than Denerim, she wouldn’t be standing in this chamber; she would be off in Orlais, massing with the other Wardens preparing to crush the horde after Ferelden is overrun. We have not welcomed the Grey Wardens in the past, and we have paid for it. Any who want to see the cost of mistrusting Wardens, go to South Reach and tell us what you find. If you survive to return.” 

The Landsmeet chamber stood silent in the wake of his ravaged grief, and no one else rose to speak against Alexia’s appointment. 

The remainder of the Landsmeet passed in a blur of formal conversation. The only moment Alexia remembered clearly was kneeling to swear fealty to her brother, pledging herself to carrying out their father’s duties. The entire thing felt surreal, and she fought an urge to stare into the corners of the chamber for distortions of the Fade. 

It wasn’t until she rose and stepped down from the dais that she caught sight of Alistair, off to the side with a cluster of other non-nobles, and realized the full cost of her new title. 

 

When there was only one other Grey Warden nearby, it didn’t take very long to find her, even in a building as large and convoluted as the royal palace. 

Alistair found her in a small room not far from the chamber where the Landsmeet had been held. He paused in the half-open door, taking a moment to study her as she stood with her back to him, sunlight slanting in through a window high on the wall and gilding her hair into a shining corona. Anything so beautiful should always have been out of his reach. Why had he ever let himself think otherwise? 

“Maybe things aren’t so different now that we’re Wardens, after all.” 

Alexia turned at the sound of his voice, her face set in a look of anguish, the second-worst he’d ever seen her. “Alistair… I’m sorry. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t let them just…” She composed herself with a quick, steadying breath. “Highever is our home; it belongs to the Couslands. I have to hold it to pass to Fergus’s children someday, not let it be given to some other family, all traces of us erased from our lands and place. I couldn’t turn this down.” She paused, determination faltering. “But I’m sorry about what that does to us.” 

“Us? There is no us.” 

She winced at the false brightness in his tone, her shoulders slumping and one hand reaching towards him in an abortive, useless gesture. “Alistair…” 

But he was right: there wasn’t and never had been. There had been two kisses and a lot of stupid, pointless hopes that he should have known better than to hold onto. 

He settled his weight onto his heels, ignoring her invitation with an effort. “A teyrn’s daughter -- Sorry, your grace, a teyrna now, can’t afford a dalliance with a knife-ear bastard. Especially one that half of her castle remembers as a mouthy scullery brat.” 

Alexia shook her head, fierce and protective even while blinking away tears. “Don’t say that.” Since he wouldn’t come to her, she crossed the room to him, standing close enough that all he would need to do to touch her was reach out his arm. He didn’t. 

She was even more heart-breakingly beautiful up close, staring at him with tears caught in her eyelashes, grey eyes intent like nothing besides him mattered. “You’re not… You’re so much more worthy than that.” 

He mustered a half smile for her. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks so.” 

“Then they’re wrong, all of them. They’re blind and ignorant and unable to see past their prejudices to realize how special and…” Her words choked off, and rather than forcing out more, she reached up to brush her fingers over his cheek and jaw. 

Alistair’s breath caught, and he let himself savor the tender caress for a moment, just long enough to memorize the feel of her touch. Then he straightened, meeting her with hard eyes and hard words as her hand fell uselessly away. “And it doesn’t matter, because you know I’m right. We’re done.” 

Alexia pressed her lips together and nodded, tearful but unbowed. “I’m sorry…” 

She didn’t try to argue because she’d known from the beginning, hadn’t she? She’d started with an apology as soon as he walked in the room; she’d known. She’d probably understood the consequence of her decision as she was making it. It was nice to think that maybe at least it had been a hard choice, or one she felt bad about, at any rate. 

Alistair forced his tight shoulders to lift into the most casual shrug he could manage. “It was me or Highever. No one’s going to fault you for making the right decision. Including me.” 

She flinched, lips parting as if to apologize again, but she didn’t. Looking away from him, she blinked three times in rapid succession and composed herself before speaking again. “We still have the Blight to deal with. All of the Landsmeet’s decisions about who holds what portion of Ferelden will be meaningless if the darkspawn overrun the kingdom. We’re still Wardens, and it’s our responsibility to stop that from happening. We have work to do.” 

Her mask of duty cracked, the pained regret showing through. “But first… please?” She took half a step forward, face tilted the slightest bit up towards his. She didn’t touch him, leaving space that gave him the choice. 

But, Maker’s breath, what choice could there be? He couldn’t have refused her even if she was tearing his heart out. This outcome wasn’t a surprise, not really. He’d always known he didn’t deserve this, would never deserve her. 

Without hesitation, he closed the gap she’d left, leaning in to kiss her one last time. 

Alistair kept his eyes closed as he tried to memorize the feel of her. Soft lips against his. Hand on his chest, fingers trembling. Loose wisps of hair brushing against his hand as it cradled the back of her neck. 

The kiss by the fire had been tentative, question and reassurance. The one in the library playful, exploration and anticipation. This time, it was slow, not passionate but intense, long and lingering but without promise or expectation. This was goodbye. 

Tears clung to her lashes when they parted, and she looked at him with a faint, sad smile that made the hollowness inside him ache. 

He needed to move past this, or he knew he would be stuck in this moment forever. “So… to Redcliffe?” 

She gave a firm nod, gathering her composure around herself like armor. “To Redcliffe. We have an archdemon to find. And kill.”


	7. Epilogue

A private audience with a new king was almost unheard of, even for a blue-blooded member of the nobility. A bastard-born elf nobody shouldn’t possibly be granted one. 

Yet somehow, Alistair found himself discreetly pulled aside at the coronation gala, ushered into a side chamber where the guard who had escorted him closed the door from the outside, leaving him alone with the newly crowned King Fergus of Ferelden. 

“Your majesty.” He bowed the best he could, wishing he knew how to do things properly. Kitchen boys did not get taught how to speak with kings. 

“Alistair.” The king nodded a greeting, eyes crinkling with a smile, and gestured to a chair. “Relax. This is a casual conversation, hence the lack of an audience.” 

Alistair took the offered seat, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. “What can I do for you, your majesty?” 

The king chuckled. “Beyond what you already have, you mean? Ferelden owes you quite a debt, and while I suspect much of the kingdom may be willing to forget that as things return to normal in the coming months, I assure you that I won’t be among them.” 

Nice words, but he must want something, or he wouldn’t have ordered -- sorry, politely requested -- this private chat. “In my experience, the reward for completed work is usually more work.” 

His majesty laughed at that, a rich, open sound, and for a moment he resembled the young man Alistair remembered seeing in the kennels, playing with pups and overseeing their training. “That’s been my experience as well, now more than ever. Looking to the future, then, since we both know that tonight’s celebration marks a pause in the work to be done rather than its end. I have sent communications to Weisshaupt with the aim of normalizing our relationship with the Grey Wardens after the… irregularities of the past year. I assume they will appoint a new Warden Commander for Ferelden, and I have offered Amaranthine as a new seat for the Fereldan Wardens, replacing their historical base at Soldier’s Peak. I imagine you will be stationed there, as well, although I have no say in the matter. Warden postings are not within the royal purview, after all.” 

Except for the Warden he’d appointed as Teyrna of Highever, of course. And Weisshaupt wasn’t likely to protest one of its agents being given extensive political power, especially not with the bribe of an arling thrown in. 

“A number of other things are within my power, however.” The king continued, oblivious to Alistair’s internal cynicism. “And as I said, Ferelden owes you a debt, and I mean to honor it. Consider this… a boon. You have a private audience, with no listening ears, and a king indebted to you. What would you ask for from the King of Ferelden?” 

Alistair closed his mouth once the king’s chuckle alerted him that it had fallen open in shock. All kinds of marvelous, impossible fantasies flitted through his head before reality reasserted itself. “That is… incredibly generous of you to offer, sire. But I don’t think that even a king’s power extends far enough for what I’d like to see. What the person at the top says isn’t really going to change how people like me get treated day to day.” 

Rather than dismissing him, the king seemed to take his words seriously. “As much as I’d like to imagine I could have that sort of influence, I suspect you’re right. That is the sort of effort that would need more than simply what I say.” He stroked at his short beard for a moment, lips pursed in thought. “My sister mentioned a woman who aided you in uncovering the slavers operating in the alienage. Shianni, was that her name? If I declare Denerim’s alienage a freestanding bannorn, bound to the throne rather than the local arl, and appoint Shianni as its bann, that might make a start towards the sort of changes you wish to see.” 

Alistair didn’t even try to control his shock at that suggestion. An elven noble? He couldn’t imagine how the Landsmeet would respond to that. And yet… “That might help, sire, yes. Assuming she has a real voice, an equal say to any other bann. The title can’t be just for show.” 

“From what Alexia says of the woman, I can’t imagine she would accept any less. Nor would I want her to. Would that satisfy your concerns?” 

“Who knows? No one’s been crazy enough to try actually giving us a voice before. But if you make a genuine effort, even if it doesn’t bear fruit, we’ll remember you tried. And that’s more than anyone else has done.” 

“I’ll speak with this Shianni tomorrow and, if she’s agreeable, make the announcement as soon as the details can be drawn up.” The king made a note on a sheet of paper sitting on a small table beside him. He set down his quill, then turned his attention fully back to Alistair. “This is something I should have done regardless, for the welfare of Ferelden’s citizens, all of them. But it’s not precisely the sort of boon I had in mind. Is there nothing you want for yourself, personally?” 

_Nothing I can have._ “Thank you, sire, but no. Keep faith with the Wardens and the alienage, and I’ll consider my work well rewarded. On top of the whole stopping the Blight and saving the world thing, which was pretty good motivation on its own.” 

“I imagine it was.” The king’s faint smile made him look younger again, if weary and overburdened. 

Alistair didn’t need to intrude more on his time. A king had to have more important things to do than talk to him. “I should let you get on with your work. Or maybe even enjoy the party, since it’s being held in your honor.” 

The snort of jaded amusement was decidedly not regal. Or maybe it was, what did he know? “Whether I manage to or not, you certainly should. Saving the world entitles a person to a night off, I’d say. Go enjoy yourself, Alistair, and…” The king’s huff of breath sounded remarkably like his sister’s mannerism when she thought better of something she’d planned to say. “And thank you, again, for your sacrifices.” 

“That’s what Grey Wardens are for, your majesty. It’s part of the motto and everything.” Rising with another attempt at a court bow that the king was gracious enough not to laugh at, Alistair showed himself out of the room. 

Back to a party full of people eager to speak to an elven hero, a marvelous novelty akin to a talking mabari. He didn’t look for the gleam of blue-and-silver plate. She would be doing fine in this setting, and he couldn’t expect her to always be there to rescue him. He could hold his head up, get through tonight, and then vanish into obscurity in Amaranthine as everyone rewrote history into a more comfortable narrative where they were saved by a beautiful, heroic noblewoman and conveniently forgot about the bastard knife-ear servant dragged along in her wake. Maybe, if he worked at it hard enough, he could forget about it, too.


End file.
